


February Letdowns (But Mostly March Madness)

by demonkatgurl17



Series: Harry Potter and the Series of Degrading Events [13]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Drama, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Cock Slut Harry Potter, Cunnilingus, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Double Penetration, Drugged Sex, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, Femdom, Fluff and Smut, Gang Rape, Gangbang, Gratuitous Smut, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Impregnation, Incest, M/M, Magical Dildos, Mommy Kink, Mpreg, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn With Plot, Power Imbalance, Pregnancy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Skull Fucking, Threesome, Underage Sex, Unsafe Sex, Voyeurism, au for smut, seriously read the tags!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:26:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26925073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonkatgurl17/pseuds/demonkatgurl17
Summary: Ginny puts her foot down and Harry's happy bubble of sexual gratification pops.It's downhill from there.(Also: Ron and Hermione discover their pregnancies, Dumbledore meddles, and Ginny gets some neat leverage.)
Relationships: Cormac McLaggen/Harry Potter, Dean Thomas/Ginny Weasley, Ginny Weasley/Dean Thomas/Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley/Others, Ginny Weasley/Ron Weasley, Harry Potter/Madam Hooch, Harry Potter/Others, Harry Potter/Ron Weasley/Dean Thomas/Seamus Finnigan/Neville Longbottom (implied), Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Gryffindor Students, Hermione Granger/Luna Lovegood, Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley, Rubeus Hagrid/Harry Potter
Series: Harry Potter and the Series of Degrading Events [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1205440
Comments: 34
Kudos: 101





	1. Feb 13th, 1997

**Author's Note:**

> I would have had this installment posted weeks ago, but for my intense hatred of proofreading and editing.
> 
> Also, please read the tags, I worked hard on them. Like the rest of this. 
> 
> This is part of a series. Great swaths likely won't make sense as I incorporate more plot, but there's enough porn to go around to make up for it, if you're still curious.

Feb 13th, 1997

  
  
  


It was nearly Valentine’s Day before Ginny decided enough was enough.

She waited after Quidditch practice was over before she cornered Ron alone in the team’s changing room. “Ok. I’m done waiting for you to get over your stupid hangups.” She marched right up to him, drawing him into a heated kiss that grew sloppy fast. 

For a few seconds, he responded beautifully to her. 

And then Ron freaked out.

“Are you _mad?_ ” he yelped, his voice cracking. He put a bench between them, eyes darting fearfully to the door, expecting the team to come back and see—

“ _You’re_ the crazy one here. I’m offering you awesome sex and you bug out just because—”

“But?! There’s no ‘but’-anything! You’re my _sister._ My little baby _sister_ ,” Ron hissed, circling the bench, when she rounded it. “It’s not right.” 

“Neither is cheating on your _girlfriend_ , but that doesn’t seem to trouble your pretty little head when you dick _Harry_ every fucking day!” Ginny growled bitterly. “Funny how your high and mighty morals fall short where _he’s_ concerned, but not your own flesh and blood.”

During Christmas, Ron had been happy as a clam to get off with her, preferred her even to Harry, she’d thought. And then after Christmas break was over, her charming older brother started treating her like she had the plague. He still fucked _Harry_ , but he wouldn’t talk to _her_ unless there were other people around. If Ginny had been a beater instead of a Chaser, she’d have knocked her share of bludgers at Ron’s stupid head.

Her list of grievances didn’t with Ron. 

Oh she’d noticed just how much attention Harry was getting. It was the attention _she’d_ been getting before Christmas. 

Now all Ginny got was Harry Potter’s scraps.

Sure, every now and then, Dean would fuck her in the Quidditch changing room, or Seamus would eat her out in the Common Room, or Neville would let her go down on his cock in a girl’s bathroom, but it wasn’t with the same regularity she had been used to. 

It lacked the urgency, the _need_ they previously had, their balls full to the bursting with pent up frustration and in need of a good orgasm.

_Ginny_ had been their favorite for release. 

And now it was _Harry._

That rankled a _lot_. 

If it wasn’t for Ginny not wanting to hurt her mother, she’d have spilled the beans on Harry soon after Christmas. Or during Christmas. Either way, her bluff had been called and now she was paying for it. 

Harry had had his fun with Ron. Now it was _her_ turn.

Ginny drew her wand. 

Seeing her do it, Ron tripped over a bench trying to get away. 

"Petrificus Totalus! Wingardium leviosa!" She guided Ron's immobilized body through the air back toward her. Only when his body was positioned between her and the wall did she end her enhancements. Hands on her hips, looking eerily like her mother, she glared at him. "Now... _if_ you're done being a _complete_ idiot?"

Ron smiled weakly. "Don't count on it." 

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Well, I suppose that _would_ take a miracle," she allowed. She bit her lip, watching him quietly for a minute. She just didn't know what to say to convince him to loosen up. 

Maybe…maybe that was the issue. 

Maybe _talking_ wasn't the way into Ron's pants.

Forcibly relaxing from her angry, rigid posture, Ginny smiled at him, stepping right into his personal space. 

Ron leaned back into the wall, trying to sink into it to avoid the tantalizing brushes of his sister’s breasts against his chest. He squeaked when Ginny rubbed his cock through his robes right there in the changing room.

“Remember Christmas?” She whispered huskily, stroking him softly through his Quidditch robes, teasing. “How you ate my pussy until I came under your tongue? How you fucked me through the mattress, staring at me like I was your whole world? It’s all I can think about anymore. It doesn’t matter who I fuck now, I keep picturing _you._ Every cock I sit on, every cock I suck...I picture this—,” she thumbed the crown of his cock through the layers of cloth, torturing the sensitive flesh until Ron gave her a broken moan. “—I think about this pretty dick when I touch myself, remembering just how _good_ it felt inside me…”

She got on her knees, freeing his cock from his Quidditch robes. He was gratifyingly hard. At least it wasn't a lack of desire holding him back. She gave the thick length a slow, firm stroke that made him whimper. 

Precum welled at the tip.

"I know you want me...I just don't know why you won't fuck me…" She licked the droplet away, closing her eyes with a moan. Delicious… She looked up at him, the tip of his cock just brushing her lips. "I _want_ you to fuck me."

"Ginny we can't...it's- it's- it's _wrong!_ "

Ginny snorted. "I'm not asking you to marry me, Ronald. All I want you to do is fuck me." 

Rising to her feet, Ginny began to shuck off her clothes, not bothering with finesse or seduction. She didn’t have the patience. Once she was down to just her underwear, she pressed against her brother, smirking when his hands came up to grasp her hips of their own accord. Her arms twinned around his neck, her covered breasts dragging against his robes and she moaned softly, her nipples peaking with her bra from the friction.

"I'm offering,Ron. You know that if I don't want something, then I don't bother. Does this feel—" she ground her belly into his erection, precum smearing on her skin, "—like I don't want it?"

Ron bit his lip, holding back another cry when his hips began a slow thrust that he couldn't stop, and again and again… "We shouldn't want this," he said weakly.

"But you _do_ want it?"

He did sob then, mentally distraught over what he was doing, but too physically worked up to stop. This was disgusting, shameful, very _very_ wrong — and he wanted it so much.

“Stop fighting it," Ginny whispered into his ear. She dropped sweet kisses down his jaw to his chin, paused a moment, then her lips were on his, sweet and innocent.

The kiss didn't stay that way. 

With a shuddering gasp, his resolve finally broke. 

Between one heartbeat and the next, he’d spun them round, flipping their positions so that he was pinning his sister to the wall, grinding his hips against her belly. His hands breached the band of her panties, sliding around behind her to cup a firm buttock in each palm, _squeezing_ —

Moaning, Ginny forced her tongue past Ron's lips, their kiss soon becoming wet and sloppy and filthy, but neither cared. 

_Finally,_ they were getting somewhere…

Cupping her ass, Ron lifted Ginny, who wrapped her legs around his waist, holding on as her brother carried her over to a nearby bench, sitting in it with her on his lap. 

It was an awkward position. 

With some wiggling, Ginny managed to tuck her legs under her on the bench while straddling Ron. She grimaced against Ron's lips. The solid wood surface wasn't doing her shins any service. She sighed, ending the kiss sooner than Ron wanted, her brother leaning forward, trying to follow. 

Ginny held him off, digging his wand out of his side holster. "Think you can make this bench a little more comfortable?" she asked, handing over his wand. It took Ron a few tries, but eventually he transfigured the bench to widen until it was nearly as big as a bed, the top surface becoming plush and cushiony. 

Much better.

Ginny looked down at their bodies, grinning at him. "Looks like you have me where you want me. Now what are you gonna do, Ron Weasley?"

"Um…" Swallowing nervously, Ron pulled his hands out of Ginny's panties and placed them right over her breasts.

And did nothing.

"And….?" Ginny huffed. "Is this what you and Lav do? You just hold her knockers for her?"

At this rate, it would be spring by the time he fucked her.

Ron flushed, angry embarrassment making his face even redder than his hair. He gave her bra a vicious tug, the material giving way a bit, just enough for Ginny to spill out of it, her soft flesh exposed and hanging obscenely over the torn lacy material. "There," he growled. "Is that better?"

"It's a fuckin' start!" Ginny sniped back.

"Then maybe I'll keep going then!" And Ron latched onto a nipple, suckling at like a babe starved, working her heavy flesh with each hand as he did. It was rough and almost punishing and it made Ginny so damn _wet_.

_"Oh_ that's...that's…" She rocked her hips, helplessly turned on by the way her breasts were being savaged. Between her legs, her panties were _soaked_ , a wet spot spreading where she rubbed against Ron's cock. A thin layer of cloth was all that separated her dripping cunt from his straining arousal. She ground against him, the air becoming thick with her musky scent. "Fuck yes, Ron—"

He switched to her other nipple, making sure both were bruised up and just this side of sore.

Swearing, he pulled away so he could tear at his own robes, trying to struggle out of them with her still in his lap. Ginny did her best to help. Eventually, Ron’s chest was bare, his trousers and underpants tangled about his knees.

Ginny couldn't resist giving his dusky nipples a tweak, doing it again when he bucked under her, and again when he whimpered and begged her to keep going. "Sensitive, aren't you? You know what else is sensitive?" She wrapped a hand around his leaking cock. "This. Should I play with this too?"

"Please!" Ron gasped, looking quite dazed and out of breath. 

He definitely wasn't fighting her anymore.

" _Just_ this or…" She pinched his nipple, rolling it punishingly between her fingers as she stroked him from root to tip, smirking at the wild look in his eyes when she kept doing it, edging him. 

It was risky. He might come before she got her own, but Ginny was enthralled by the power she wielded. Usually, she was the submissive partner, spreading her legs, bending over, getting into just about any position to allow the man fucking have his way. She was no stranger to seduction, using her wiles to get what and who she wanted, but this was _different_. 

_She_ was calling the shots, driving Ron crazy. And he was just _letting_ her. It was an amazing ego trip that made Ginny want to see how far this might go.

Either way, she was finally going to sit on her brother’s cock again.

"Tell me what you're thinking, big boy." Ginny purred. "Or have your brains already turned to mush?"

"I- I don't—" Ron shook his head, eyes clenched shut. "Ginny, I'm gonna—!"

_Slap!_

Ron's face jerked to the side from the force of her hitting him. It hadn't been enough to hurt, but it had gotten his attention away from his imminent orgasm, dragging him back from the brink just in time. Anger started to flare within him. "You—"

" _No._ " Ginny's voice was steely and unforgiving and Ron quailed to hear it. "You come when I say, Ronald Weasley. Right now, your cock is _mine,_ your pleasure is _mine_. You will do what I say when I say it or I will march rightn out that door—" she pointed at it, "—and find another cock to sit on. Is that clear?"

Ron gaped at her, startled by the arousal flooding him. This was _new_ . He _liked_ this. Never before had he thought being dominated by a woman would make him cream his pants, but here he was, trying to keep from spurting in her fist.

Also it helped that she had a _very_ tight grip.

"Y-yes ma'am."

Her blue eyes were like flint, hard and cold as she stared him down. His will broke first, his gaze darting away.

She smiled.

Once more she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, putting them chest to chest, their skin deliciously warm where they pressed together. "You're going to be a good boy for me, aren't you?" She whispered against his mouth, kissing him then pulling away, her lips hovering just shy of his. 

He nodded, a helpless look in his eyes.

"Yeah?" She kissed him again, a beat longer. "Are you my good boy?" He nodded again. " _Say_ it."

"Ginny—"

"Are you my good boy, Ronald?"

"I- I'm…" Ron swallowed hard, flushing. "I'm your good boy," he whispered, red as a beet.

Ginny kissed him deep and slow, humming into his mouth. "Good," she purred. "Lay down." 

Ron did as commanded, reclining flat on his back.

Smug and drunk on power, Ginny crawled forward up his body until her knees were straddling her brother's face. It was clear from Ron's hungry expression that he knew she was wet and liked it. "See how much you turn me on?" She pet his hair, drawing his eyes back to her. "How much I want you?"

He nodded, squirming under her. But he didn't move, his fingers lightly tracing over her calves. She considered telling him off, that she hadn't given him permission to touch her, but the tickling feeling was nice and she didn't want to push Ron _too_ hard, not yet at least. 

Better to get the hippogriff used to the leash before you put him through his paces.

"I bet you want a taste." Ginny rubbed at the front of her panties, getting her fingers faintly wet. "Here...for my good boy…" She held them to his mouth. Ron immediately sucked at them, tongue lapping frantically. "Oh you are an _eager_ boy for mummy—" 

Ron stilled, his eyes wide. 

Just when Ginny grew worried that she'd gone too far, Ron surprised her by renewing his frantic suckling, whining around fingers, his eyes pleading. He gripped her calves tight enough to leave bruises, but if this was the response to such dirty talk, Ginny was willing to let it slide.

She pulled her fingers free. "I think mummy's good boy deserves a treat." Ginny shifted on her knees, lowering her crotch over Ron's face, her soaked panties brushing his lips. "Go on, show mummy you love her."

Ron lapped at her covered pussy like a man possessed. He suckled at her swollen clit through the wet material hard, the dual friction sending a shock of pleasure up Ginny's spine. The tip of his tongue tried vainly to spear into her cunt, but only got so far with her panties in the way. His hands had slid up to her hips and they coaxed her to rock, to fuck his face as he worked her.

Head thrown back, Ginny's eyes screwed shut, groaning at the pleasure her big brother wrought. Burying one hand in Ron's ginger mop, Ginny leaned forward to brace herself on the spongy bench-bed, keeping his face right where she wanted it.

Oh, this was _heavenly_...

One particularly hard suck had her right on the edge. Her eyes opened, staring vacantly ahead as his tongue swirled over her clit—

It took a long moment for Ginny to realize that she was looking at someone. 

And that someone was staring back.

She was facing the door, which stood open a few inches, and the face of Dean Thomas peered in, looking utterly gobsmacked.

Shock tipped her over the edge. Ginny's orgasm struck like a hurricane and she was humping at her brother's face, groaning like the dirty slut she was, her breasts shaking with every heaving breath and body shudder that ran through her. 

Gradually, she came down and she remembered Dean—

—who was still staring into the room, eyes big, and his hand...his hand was on his exposed cock, stroking it. 

Their eyes locked. Dean kept fisting himself.

Well alright then.

Ginny licked her lips, feeling arousal coil tight in her belly again.

Looking down, she eased up her hold on Ron's head, letting him continue to lave his tongue against her at the juices seeping through her underwear. "That was lovely, baby…" She crawled back a bit so that she could kiss him properly, humming contentedly at the taste of herself on her brother's tongue. 

"How would you like it if mummy showed how much she loves you?" Ron nodded frantically, but it was a rhetorical question, as Ginny was already crawling down, down…

Looking up at Ron, she could _just_ see over his head to where Dean watched in the doorway, getting off on them. 

Ginny spared several minutes giving Ron's heavy balls the attention they deserved, enjoying his agonized groans, which devolved into pathetic whimpers when Ginny licked up the thick vein on the underside of his cock. She deepthroated him in one move and Ron choked on his own spit, twitching. She held still there, waiting to see if he would lose control. 

If he was going to shoot his load, she wanted it in her mouth.

He surprised her when he held off, muttering under his breath.

"...asphodel...skink bladder...mugwort...shrivelfig…"

He was reciting potions ingredients to stave off his orgasm. 

Pride blossoming within her, Ginny carefully pulled off him so that she could straddle his hips and kiss him again. "So good, saving all your cum for mummy." She stroked his hair, angling his head to suck at her nipple, his moans tickling her breast. "I want your cock, baby. I want to ride that thick monster. I want you to be nice and good and let mummy ride you until she comes. And _then_ you can come— only _then!_ You understand?"

Ron pulled off her breast to stare up at her with devastating adoration. "Please mummy...Please!" 

"Take mummy's knickers off."

Two rough tugs and the material was torn and thrown away. 

She sighed. Points for enthusiasm, but if he was going to ruin her wardrobe, they were going to have to lay ground rules.

Regardless, her pussy was bared. She wasted no time sinking down on his length, taking her pleasure, rocking steadily. Ron's hands were on her hips, holding on for dear life. 

Moaning low, Ginny threw her head back. 

She loved her brother's cock, how _big_ it was. She was used to taking her father's large cock, but while she was in school, she had to settle for the boys here. 

And the occasional professor. 

Professor Moody hasn't just been her favorite defense professor because of how knowledgeable he'd been. His fat cock had made Ginny come so hard when he bent her over his desk, she'd seen stars. It had made Lockhart's thin pencil-dick feel like a joke. She hadn’t managed to sway Lupin, but now knowing he was a werewolf, Ginny was glad she’d dodged that particular bullet (some risks just weren’t worth taking).

But Ron's cock was already nearly as big as their daddy's and it filled Ginny up so good…

Deciding Ron's hands needed something to do, she moved them to her breasts, so that he could knead and pinch and grope as she bounced harder, forcing his hands to a rougher touch, punishing her sensitive nipples.

"Oh _Merlin_ and _Morgana_ , Ron," she breathed, clamping around his cock.

Ron gave a strangled yelp. "Ginny! Ginny, please—" He yelped again at the light slap she gave him. He stared up at her, looking confused and betrayed.

"What's my name?" Ginny rode him harder, feeling herself getting closer…

"Gin—"

"What's my _fucking_ name, baby?"

Ron floundered briefly before he seemed to catch on. "Mummy. Please mummy… please let me come...Please Mummy, I've been a good boy—"

" _Yes!_ " Ginny cried out, right on the edge. She rode him as hard as she could manage with her legs tiring and rhythm failing. His hips had started to rise and meet her and she couldn't find it in her to chastise him, not when he was driving his length so fucking _deep_ . " _Ron!_ Come for mummy! Come inside your mummy! Breed your mummy up—!"

White-hot, binding pleasure sang through Ginny as she came on her brothers cock, rocking as much as she could to draw the amazing sensation out when Ron's hands were gripping her hips tight, his body bucking beneath her as he emptied his balls into her womb, tears running down his face as he _sobbed_ —

Ginny collapsed onto Ron's chest, shuddering like mad. Tingles ran up and down her body. Her pussy ached, but it was a good ache and she clenched down on him erratically, loving how full she felt even as he grew flaccid within her. 

She hummed, very satisfied. The feeling wouldn't last long, she knew, her cunt always hungry for the next cock, but she enjoyed the reprieve while it lasted. 

Being perpetually horny could be maddening.

Beneath her, Ron was in a worse state. He was still crying, hugging her body to him so tight it was as though he was afraid she would leave. 

"Hush now...hush…" she gentled, kissing away his tears. "You did so well for mummy….yes you did…"

"I-" Ron hiccuped, "I- l-love y-you."

Her heart skipped a beat.

She felt a twinge of guilt flare. "I know." She soothed his hair down. "I love you too." 

As a sister and a lover all rolled into one. 

But she had a feeling that his declaration ran deeper than all of that, and it hurt, knowing that she would have to disappoint him, crush him even.

But not today.

"Hush now. We need to get cleaned up before someone comes looking for us. Ok? Just promise me something." She forced him to meet her eyes. "Don't you dare ignore me or push me away like that again." 

She paused, debating on her next offer. "And if you like, I'd be happy to be your mummy again." 

It was selfish, keeping him close, especially knowing how he felt about her, but Ginny hadn't come that hard with anyone except their father and she was loath to give up good sex when it was within her grasp.

Absently, Ron nodded and let her clean him up and redress. 

"Now you go on first. I'll be along behind you after a bit. I need to catch a shower."

He looked like he was going to fight her on that, but she put her hands on her hips and scowled, an excellent impression of their mother that both cowed him and made him blush. 

Relenting, he slipped out of the changing room. 

Deciding a shower wasn't a bad idea, Ginny padded over to the open shower, the charmed nozzles spraying the perfect temperature.

Hot water caressed Ginny's body, easing some of the stiffness in her body. She hadn’t worked a cock that hard for weeks. Her legs were going to be sore tomorrow, but she had no regrets. 

Hands gripped her hips and a hard cock ground into the small of her back.

"That was the _hottest_ thing I've ever seen."

"Yeah?" Ginny twirled around, twining her arms around Dean's neck. His dark flesh was beautiful against her pale creamy skin. It was a contrast that never failed to mesmerize her. "You enjoy the show?"

"Hell yes," he kissed her, his hands sliding around to cup her ass. His fingertips crooked further to feel Ron's cum seeping from her used cunt. "I wouldn't mind a repeat either. That was amazing to watch."

"With or without Ron knowing?" She didn't really care which, but she wasn't sure if Ron would like to share such a secret with others. 

Then again… 

She thought of that day with her and him and Bill, how Ron had taken so well to being ordered around. Perhaps her brother's submissive streak could be tested even further…

"If you can get Ron to let others watch him and his sister fuck, I'll give you 5 sickies." Dean picked her up, her legs smoothly wrapping around his waist, pressing her back to the shower wall.

"Ten sickles says I can get him to take _your_ cock,” Ginny smirked.

"With you sitting on his cock?"

"Without."

He whistled low. "You have a deal." 

He slipped into her pussy. 

Ginny groaned, loving the thickness of him. He wasn't as long as Ron, but he could still make her feel it.

Her clit ground against his pelvis.

Ginny gasped, her need returning full force. "Fuck me. Please fuck me!"

Dean drove into her hard, but while holding her up, it wasn't a pace he could keep for long. Eventually he was forced to set her on her feet, where he turned her to face the wall, leaning her against it with her firm ass arched towards him.

"Fuck yeah…" He slapped her ass, watching it bounce. "Dirty whore."

"I'm only a whore if I'm being _fucked_ ," she said pointedly over her shoulder, wiggling her hips teasingly. 

"Oh don't worry, I'll make an honest whore out of you." 

Dean's cock slipped in so deep, Ginny groaned, her toes curling into the wet floor. He withdrew only to thrust hard enough to drive Ginny forward, her arms barely preventing her from eating the wall. Dean kept up his deep, violent thrusts, his balls swinging, slapping at her clit. "Oh Circe!....Fuck me, Dean….Fuck me!" Ginny panted, her breasts jiggling with every thrust. 

"How can someone so wet be so damn tight?" Dean growled. As often as she took cock, Dean had no idea how Ginny stayed so tight. Harry was the same way, though, his body bouncing back from the abuse it took with wicked speed. It made it hard to keep from fucking Harry so often.

Tight as Ginny was, Dean was grateful for the extra lubricant. It wasn't just Ginny's own slick lubing him up, but Ron's cum. And it was a huge turn on. Harry liked being tag-teamed and double-penetrated on a regular basis, but knowing it had been Ginny's _brother_ that had given her a creampie was _insanely_ hot. 

And Dean was _fucking_ her through it.

"Fuck Ginny...I'm getting close!"

"Just keep….right _there_ …" Ginny panted, bouncing back onto his cock as much as she could with Dean pounding her so hard. Oh fuck...it felt...it felt… "Come inside me! Come inside me!"

"You'll get preg—"

"I know! Knock me up, Dean!"

"Fuck!" Dean made one last thrust and shot his load deep, groaning as Ginny's cunt clamped and fluttered around him, _milking_ him—

Watching around the corner of the changing room, Ron's hand flew over his leaking cock, panting hard, trying to catch up with Dean and Ginny, who would be coming down from their orgasms soon. Biting his lip so hard he tasted blood, Ron stifled a groan as he came on the wall and his hand, his legs feeling weak and shaky as pleasure flooding him.

That had been…

Damn, he had a kink.

He liked to _watch._

He was a _voyeur._

Shaking his head, he realized that Dean was looking at Ron over his shoulder. 

Dean smirked.

Very slowly, Dean pulled out, stopping just short of the tip, then slid back into Ron's sister in one smooth thrust. Ginny groaned, pushing back into it, clearly fine with another go if Dean wanted.

Well ok then…

Ron stroked his sensitive cock, willing it hard. 

It didn't take much, watching his friend Dean watch him as Dean fucked his sister.

Okay, thinking about it made Ron's head hurt.

As he watched, a thrilling idea came to mind.

Taking off his clothes again, Ron tiptoed into the shower area, gesturing for Dean to pull out.

Puzzled but aroused, Dean did as directed and Ron dropped to his knees behind Ginny spreading her asscheeks wide. Her tight furl winked at Ron, who couldn't resist giving it a kiss.

A French kiss, deep and wet with all the tongue he could shove into it.

"Oh _Dean!_ Fuck yes! I haven't had anal in for _ever_..."

Ron glanced at Dean, who shrugged, not sure what to do either. Ron decided it didn't matter yet so he set about opening Ginny's ass with tongue, then fingers slicked by the cum Ron and Dean had emptied into Ginny's pussy. Once he deemed her stretched enough, Ron thrust into her pussy again to get his dick nice and wet, then changed holes, sinking balls deep with a grateful sigh. 

He loved ass.

Dean stood close, staring at the join of the siblings' bodies. "Fuck…"

"You want her mouth or pussy?"

"Pussy," Dean says firmly. "Definitely pussy. I can have her mouth in a dark corner any time."

Ginny froze. "What—?" A glance over her shoulder and her eyes got big.

So did her grin.

"Deam Thomas, if you don't fuck my pussy right now, I'll give you a bat-bogey hex everyday instead of a blowjob."

Dean hopped to with marked speed. 

Getting lined up was a bit dodgy. Ginny had to stand on one leg to let Dean slide into her, carefully wrapping her legs around his waist with Ron's help, which was awkward because Ron didn't seem to want to pull out. 

In the end, they managed and Ginny was impaled on both their cocks, held up by both of them. 

"You know," she said conversationally, as though she weren't being actively double penetrated, "I thought it would take longer to get you onboard for something like this." She leaned back into her brother's arms, looking over her shoulder at him.

"As long as a cock is in you, I could care less whose it is."

"Kinky bastard," Dean grinned, thrusting once. They all groaned. "Let's fuck this whore."

"Hey, that's my baby sister you're bad mouthing."

"It's your baby sister’s tight little pussy I'm breeding." He paused, smirking wide. “Or should I say it’s your _mummy_ I’m breeding?”

"Breeding?" Ron flushed, starting to fuck Ginny's ass. Fuck, wasn't that a hot idea? Knocking up his own sister….

"Oh yeah. Didn't you know? Dear sweet Ginny wants a bun in the oven. She wants a wizard to plant his seed deep and fill it up, nice and round." Dean started fucking Ginny from the other side, quickly getting rough with her. "Or at least she likes the fantasy."

"No," Ginny panted, head thrown back onto Ron's shoulder. "I want it… I want it…"

"Is that why you bounce on dick everyday?” Dean asked. “If it's not my cock, it's most of the upper years. One night, I even watched her let a third year and his buddies pound her. Did any of them spurt at all or did they all come dry?"

"They...some of them came," she argued, fighting even now, trying to be difficult despite the cocks rutting her, filling her up to the bursting point. "Maybe I'll let you watch."

"I'd like to watch a _first_ year pound you."

"That's messed up, Dean." Ron groaned.

"You'd watch."

“Yeah...yeah I'd watch.. Maybe have them suck her tits. Like a baby. While getting _fucked_ by that baby."

"That's messed up, Ron," Dean mocked, leaning to suck Ginny's nipple until she whined.

"Ginny likes it. She gets tight when she likes something." 

"Pretty sure that's just our thick cocks." Dean quickened his pace, pounding into Ginny with short, jarring thrusts.

Ginny gasped. "Can't it be both? Oh….Fuck mummy's ass, Ron. Fuck your mummy…"

Dean groaned. "Okay that's messed up and _hot_. Damn mommy kink…"

"Hmmm…. sounds like _someone_ needs a feeding." Ginny drew Dean to her breast again, inhaling sharply when he circled the nipple lightly with his tongue before sucking on it with a frenzied intensity. "Oh that's it baby, suck mummy's tit, get your mouth on it—"

"I'm-I'm gonna—" Ron cried out, filling his sister's ass with cum, not stopping his mad thrusts, his cum frothing at his pubes.

"Ugh— _ugh!_....mummy," Dean panted, fucking Ginny harder. "Mummy— I'm gonna come inside you. ..Take it...Take it mummy! Take my cum—!"

Ginny cried out, writhing in Dean's arms as he did his level-best to impregnate her, her pussy clenching and drawing out every drop he had.

Trembling, Ginny was set down on the floor, Ron and Dean all but collapsing beside her. 

The shower nozzle, which had been kind enough to point away while they were busy, adjusted so that all three were under its gentle spray, washing away the evidence of their playtime.

"We need to do this more often," Ginny sighed, used and totally blissed out.

"I'm telling ya…." Ron grinned.

Dean slapped the floor. "Here, here."

Content, Ginny stroked at her belly wondering if _this_ time…

And even if it wasn't, she felt confident that Ron and Dean (and maybe the other sixth year boys) would now be spending less time with Harry and more time with _her_.

She grinned. 

_We'll see who's got the best game in Gryffindor. Winner takes all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the end of this story, you're going to hate me in so many ways...
> 
> Totally looking forward to it! ^_-


	2. Feb 14th

Feb 14th, 1997

Harry awoke slowly, blinking fuzzily at the ceiling. He'd been dreaming again.

Red eyes staring into his soul with wonder, as if he was the most precious thing, hands pale as death ghosting over his body in sensual caresses that made him arch and twist on silky sheets, trying to follow them.

It had been so surreal...

For weeks, Harry had been plagued by similar dreams of his enemy. In some, Voldemort was gentle and teasing, a different person in all but body. In others, he was cruel, punishing, exacting his vengeance upon Harry with his wand and his cock.

In both, Harry was tortured and terribly aroused.

When anyone asked about his fitful sleep, he claimed it was nightmares.

He wasn't lying, not really.

Harry's cock throbbed, unhappy with being ignored. It wasn't unusual for him to wake from his dreams to find himself hard. Sometimes he came while still asleep, his orgasm mercifully forcing an end to the madness his subconscious played out for him.

There had to be something wrong with him, a sickness in the head. It was the only thing that could explain why he would suffer almost nightly, trapped in outlandish scenarios where Voldemort brought Harry to the edge of pain or pleasure — or both — instead of killing him.

The trouble with Harry's dreams wasn't that they disgusted him, but that Harry enjoyed them.

And that alone meant Harry was certifiable.

Harry rubbed at his eyes, shaking off the last of his sleepiness.

A good fuck, that's what he needed, a nice hard cock driving every last thought from his head until he forgot how messed up he was.

Swiping his glasses off his nightstand, Harry eagerly looked around the dorm—

To find himself alone.

That was odd. At least one of the boys could be counted on to linger to wake Harry up properly, but not even Seamus left was in the room.

Disturbed by this, Harry sat up and looked down at the bulge in his pajamas, his cock still hard. He could do one of two things: he could get himself off or he could go find one of his mates to do it for him. For the sake of time, he was tempted to just deal with the problem himself. Maybe he was getting spoiled, but touching himself just didn’t sound appealing, no matter how much his cock disagreed with him.

Harry sighed.

For the first time in ages, he chose to take a cold shower, the need in his loins reduced to a manageable, if not enjoyable, dull ache.

“They’d better make it up to me”, Harry groused to himself as he hastily dressed himself, eager to hunt down a partner. He clamored down the stairs, skipping some altogether, and entered the Common Room, where he stopped dead in his tracks, staring around in vague, wide-eyed horror.

Hearts. Everywhere.

They hovered and flew around the room, some moving in garish flocks that would divebomb random students sitting around, others hovering in the air, content to look pretty and aloof. Above the fireplace was a string of them that kept undulating against the wall, giving off high-pitched trills and raining silver sparks whenever a section touched the stone. Pink ones, red ones, lavender miniature ones. There were hearts covered in lace, or glitter, or faceted ones like jewels. There were ones charmed to enlarge and shrink rhythmically, creating the effect of a beating heart that was more menacing than cute.

Harry gaped at the grotesque decorations, seriously wondering for a moment if this was Umbridge's sick idea of a joke.

Then he remembered that he was a sixth year now and that Umbridge was half-mad and resided in St. Mungos, keeping Gilderoy Lockhart company, from last he’d heard.

Valentine’s Day. Harry groaned under his breath. How could he forget Valentine’s Day?

Cautiously, Harry picked his way around furniture and snogging couples until he found Ron and Lavender on a cozy loveseat, trying to swallow each other's tongues from the looks of it. He gave a discreet cough to get their attention.

“Harry!” Ron flushed, nervously glancing between Harry and his girlfriend. “Er, we—”

“Have you seen any of the others from our dorm?” Harry asked, cutting across Ron’s embarrassed stammering before it could get traction. Lavender was giving him a very passable attempt at a death glare and Harry didn’t want to waste time to see if she could succeed where Voldemort had failed.

“Ah, well, I thought I saw them leave the Tower with Ginny a while ago.”

Harry blinked. “With Ginny? All of them?”

Oddly, Ron flushed a deeper red, shrugging. “You know how she is. And today’s Valentine’s Day an’ all. Think they wanted to, you know, show her how much she’s...appreciated,” he finished lamely, face beet red.

Yes, Harry could well imagine just how the boys might be doing that.

“Thanks mate,” Harry grimaced.

Face heating with a strange mix of embarrassment and irritation, Harry turned back to the staircase to the boy’s dorms, ducking to avoid getting caught in a glitter trail from a passing burgundy heart, then sprinted for the stairs, racing up them to safety.

Leaning back against the door with bits of glitter falling from his hair, Harry sighed, resigned.

It looked like he was stuck with his hand after all.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
Harry spent the entire day of classes on edge.

His solitary stress relief that morning hadn’t lasted long. By lunch, there was a trembling in his leg from pent up nervous energy and he had to hold his robes a certain way to avoid people seeing his half-hard state. Halfway through the lunch hour found Harry in the bathroom, a silencing spell on his stall while he urged the butt plug he wore to lengthen and fuck him silly until Harry came on the door he’d been bracing himself against.

Like his morning masturbation, it only helped for a few hours. Harry blamed the stupid holiday, his patience shot from seeing so many lovey-dovey couples and garish heart decorations hanging about the castle, reminding Harry that he couldn’t be like everyone else. He couldn’t hold hands or be affectionate or make public overtures to, well, anybody.

Not that Harry really understood how any of that worked, but it stung that he was prevented from having something normal like a boyfriend because of who he was — famous Harry Potter, Chosen One. Heaven forbid he choose a partner amongst the students of Hogwarts. Even if they weren’t enamored with his fame (which was nearly impossible to find) then there was still the problem of subjecting them to the same craziness Harry already put up with.

Or worse, the danger he faced.

Sulking, he watched couples meet up between classes (including Hermione and Luna, who held hands until they were forced to part for their respective classes). Several very forward girls (and even two guys, a fourth year Hufflepuff and a seventh year Ravenclaw) tried to approach him between classes and Harry was forced to stammer out apologies before ducking away into the crowd, both flattered and horribly embarrassed by the stares such encounters brought.

On top of all of that, Harry could feel an ache in his groin building that his toys had yet to fully take care of.

His mood was fantastic.

Classes let out for the day and Harry seized his moment. “Hey Dean!”

Dean peeled away from the throng of students exiting Transfiguration to wait for Harry to catch up. “What’s up?”

“Hey, er...do you mind if we talk for a moment? In private?”

“Yeah, sure, I guess. As long as it’s not too long.” They walked down a few different corridors until no one was around. “What did you need?”

“You know what I need…” Harry leaned against the wall in a subtle, yet wanton display, his head cocked to the side to showcase the side of his neck that Dean tended to bite.

“Oh,” Dean looked embarrassed. “It’s just that I told Ginny I’d meet her after classes.” He shrugged, apologetic. “Maybe some other time?”

Harry’s jaw clenched in irritation. “That’s fine.” He stood properly, righting his vaguely rumbled clothing, crossing his arms. “That’s— yeah, fine.”

“Good, cool. So I’ll um… I’ll see you.”

“Yeah, see you…” Harry said to half, watching Dean round the corner, his dick once again highly disappointed. “That’s fine...I’ll just wait then.”  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
Harry went to bed that night to an empty dorm. Every single one of his mates spent the rest of the evening celebrating Valentine’s Day. Harry knew this because he’d gotten tired of waiting for anyone to come back and squinted at the Marauder’s Map for several minutes before finding them. Ron and Lavender were in a third floor classroom and Ginny was surrounded by several dots on the 5th floor — Neville, Seamus, Dean, and Cormac stood so close to Ginny that her name and dot were nearly obscured; Colin Creevey’ s dot stood a little bit away but in the same room.

Harry tried not to wonder too hard what Colin’s dot would be away from all the others yet in the same room while the rest of the boys did...whatever it was they were doing.

After a while, Harry watched Ginny and the others left the room.

Eagerly, he followed them from the fifth floor, watched the dots climb two flights of stairs, stop in a corridor on the seventh floor — and disappear. Harry squinted furiously at the map for several minutes, searching the whole of the miniature detail of the castle from the seventh floor corridor and out until it dawned on him that the dots had disappeared at a very particular place on the seventh floor.

The Room of Requirement. Unplottable and therefore unwatchable.

Harry tossed the Map into his trunk with disgust. He was tired of waiting.

Furious, Harry charmed his butt plug to a rather large size, lengthening it, turning it into a dildo nearly twice as wide as an average cock. He draped himself over the side of his bed. With a few clearly spoken code words, Harry was being vigorously fucked by the toy, muffling his cries into his bedspread, still wishing it was a real cock spearing him wide open.

Thankfully, the next day was Saturday.

Out of spite, Harry vowed to wake up early and spend as much of the day as he could at the Hog’s Head Inn letting countless willing customers show Harry their appreciation.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
On Sunday, Harry was still feeling sore and used from his day at the Inn so he wasn’t too bothered when none of his mates hit him up for sex.

Finishing his homework was a more pressing need anyway.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
By the end of the week, Harry was feeling distinctly avoided and more than a little pent up.

Every morning, Harry woke to an empty dorm.

Reluctantly, he went back to using his charmed plug before starting his day, playing with it between classes when he couldn’t stand the itch to be fucked anymore. His evenings with filled with studying and homework, and even after Harry was finished, none of his dormmates to be found, all of them staying out late with Ginny.

Harry could understand Ron’s absence — the ginger was practically attached to Lavender’s hip in every waking moment, but sometimes he would disappear with the others, following Ginny to the Room of Requirement for hours on end.

Harry learned not to wait up for any of them.

Once, on Thursday, Harry managed to coax Seamus into a broom closet on the second floor during lunch hour for a quick fuck that took the edge off Harry’s irritation, but only made Harry keen for more.

He would have to wait another two days to get any, spending most of the day on his hands and knees in a backroom at the Inn again, taking as much cock as he could get. The barkeep actually had to force him to leave, claiming that he’d never get the semen stains out of the sheets if Harry didn’t stop for the evening.

The following Sunday was spent much the same as the one before, recovering from the rough treatment by strange hands and catching up on homework, only this time Harry didn’t have any expectations that his mates would be there for him in the morning.

He was disappointed all the same to wake to an empty dorm Monday morning.

Classes and homework occupied most of his time during the week, but there was one thing he could count on for stress relief and that was Quidditch practice. The freedom of flying and the thrill of the chase would always help calm his troubled mind.

Quidditch practice would also give him the chance to get some answers.

Harry had stayed quiet last week during each practice, watching and reeling in jealousy as Ginny left the pitch with Ron and Dean on either side of her. This week would be different, he decided. Something was going on and Ginny was at the heart of the matter, he could feel it in his gut.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
“Ginny? Could you help me clear up here?”

Quidditch practice had just ended. All that was left was to get the equipment stored away. Most of the players had already left, leaving Ron, Dean, Ginny, and Harry lingering on the ground of the Pitch.

Ron and Dean looked ready to say something, each looking guiltily at the other. Neither did, instead choosing to surreptitiously watch Harry and Ginny square off while messing with their own gear.

Ginny’s gaze was cool and calm. “Sure.” She turned to the other boys. “I won’t be long. You go ahead, I’ll meet you later.”

“Okay.” “Sure, Gin.” And Ron and Dean headed back to the castle, both casting the occasional glance back at Harry and Ginny.

Harry levitated the trunk that held the quaffle, bludgers, and snitch and put it in the storage shed it came from, Ginny following after. Locking the door, he turned to face Ginny, who had her arms crossed over her chest and was affecting a bored expression that Harry didn’t believe for a minute. Her eyes were too bright, cheeks too flushed, to be anything but ready for a fight.

“So.”

Ginny raised a mocking eyebrow.

That more than her detached attitude set Harry off.

“What the hell is going on, Gin?” Harry took a step towards her then stopped when she uncrossed her arms, falling into a ready stance, her hand lingering near her pocket where he knew she kept her wand. He grimaced. “I thought we were fine.”

“Fine?” Ginny bit out, laughing mirthlessly. “You broke our deal.”

“But at Christmas—”

“That was a truce, nothing more. I didn’t say anything then because Daddy wanted to play with you and it would have ruined my holiday to have a row about it. He has a soft spot for you, did you know that?” She took a menacing step towards Harry, who took a step back to maintain distance. “But I’m his baby girl. I’ve taken care of him for years and then you come along and suddenly he can’t keep his hands off you. He’s my Daddy, not yours!”

She took another step forward, and another.

“So, wait—” Harry backed up, his back hitting the door of the shed. “So this is about your dad, not—”

“This is about you taking and taking and taking from my family. At Christmas, you had Ron and Fred and George to play with, but no, that wasn’t enough for you, was it? No, you still had to have my father. Morgana’s tit...you even seduced Bill and Charlie and Percy of all people — don’t deny it, I saw you go into Dad’s shed with him, he looked like Christmas had come twice when he left it! — You fucked my whole family outside of me and mum and, if we both had cocks, I’m pretty sure you’d have tried to have a go with us too! My family, Harry Potter, mine, and you went through it like it was last week’s Daily Prophet.”

Harry flushed, ashamed.

Everything she said was true. Harry had been so focused on getting his needs fulfilled over the break that he hadn’t given his actions a second thought. His lust had consumed him. With all parties willing, Harry hadn’t stopped to remember that the Weasleys were his family, that he couldn’t just treat them like his clients at the Inn or even the Dursleys, using them to satisfy his base needs.

He hadn’t stopped to remember that, though he was welcome in the Weasley’s house, he had no right to take what wasn’t his.

Ginny stopped inches from him, her blue eyes flashing, her chest heaving. Harry didn’t have to like girls to find her stunning when she was aroused like this, blood high in her cheeks and radiating power, but Harry was too busy recoiling from her anger to really appreciate it though.

“And then, you come back here and you’re still using the people closest to you. Every. Single. Sixth. Year. Boy,” Ginny poked him in the chest, emphasizing her words, “bowed to your every need — boys that I would turn to get me through to the next holiday. So yeah. We’re not fine, Harry. Not by a long shot. I just got tired of you taking things from me. So I took them back.”

Ginny smiled, but it made her ugly, her teeth bared too much, her eyes too malevolent and cold for pretty. “The real bitch of it though? It wasn’t even hard to convince your mates to come to me instead. Apparently, I can give them something you can’t.”

She took one last step forward and pressed herself against Harry, her hand sliding up his chest and behind his neck—

Harry inhaled sharply when she seized a handful of his hair and yanked, forcing his head up and back. He raised his arms to defend himself, but froze when an unforgiving hand cupped his groin, squeezing his sensitive flesh just enough to make Harry whine and fall still, surrendering in the face of her dominance.

“I can test their limits,” she breathed into his ear. “I can break them apart and put them together again. I can bring them to the edge over and over and make them beg me for mercy. I can do everything you can and more. And you?” Ginny laughed, squeezing Harry a fraction harder, making him wince. “All you will ever be...is a hole. A warm mouth, a tight ass... A living sex doll. And really, where’s the fun in that?”

She released him, stepping back out of reach.

She needn’t have worried. Harry was reeling too much to even try to attack her. He understood her anger. He’d used her family. And she’d retaliated in the only way she probably could — by talking Harry’s toys away from him. It was his fault that weeks and weeks of indulgent debauchery had come to an end.

Perhaps in more ways than one.

Her claims of having more to offer than Harry didn’t ring hollow. He’d seen the way boys followed her around lately, how they looked at her, almost worshiped her. If she was just something for them to fuck, then why make an effort to meet with her so early and late? If all they wanted was just a wet hole or a skillful mouth, then why ignore Harry, who was both willing and more accessible than Ginny?

Despite her sharp words, Ginny’s easy dominance had cut through Harry’s fear and sent a shiver of arousal down his spine. If she could affect him so while he was roiling with shame and guilt, then the other boys would have had no chance against it, already eager for a firm hand to take control in more ways than one.

Something about Ginny had drawn his dormmates away. Maybe she did have more to offer them than Harry did...

Ginny regarded him coolly, apparently satisfied by how unsettled Harry was. “Honestly, though? I could care less about random boys here at school. If it was just them you played with, I probably wouldn’t have bat an eye. There are enough fish in the sea here. But family is everything. Maybe you’d understand that better if you had a family that wanted you.”

Harry’s jaw dropped, more shocked and hurt by her words than if she’d reached out and slapped him.

Ginny smirked, satisfied. She turned on her heel, marching back towards the castle.

It was a long while before Harry left the Quidditch pitch. He had never been less motivated to return to Gryffindor Tower.


	3. Mar. 1st

Mar 1 st , 1997

  
  


Days after their fight, Harry still hadn’t spoken to Ginny. He came to dread Quidditch practice (and not just for Ron’s lousy Keeping). His orders to Ginny were terse and limited. Frankly, it was all he could do to keep from glaring at her, knowing that team morale would suffer (more) if Harry were to start taking his anger out on her in the open. Restraint wasn’t one of Harry’s virtues, but where Quidditch was concerned, he would make an effort. Ginny may have turned into a bitch — one of Harry’s making — but she was no Umbridge. He could be civil, even if she was the reason he had perpetual blue balls. 

None of his mates approached him for sex anymore and Harry, who was still feeling rather humiliated from his talk with Ginny, didn’t ask either. 

His pride had taken enough beatings. 

In two weeks, bitter disappointment had fully replaced Harry’s former euphoria. He longed to turn the clock back to when he was sucking cock and getting fucked multiple times a day. Now Harry was back to getting by with his hand and his charmed butt plugs — pathetic substitutes that they were — for six  _ miserable  _ days a week. 

But thankfully, today was Saturday. 

Harry clamored out of bed, eager for the day ahead. He planned to grab a quick bite to eat, then scurry down the secret passage behind the One-Eyed Witch’s statue and enjoy himself at the Inn, scratching the itch that had been building within him for a week. 

Anticipation running through his veins, Harry barely remembered to set out Ron’s birthday present.

He was rummaging about in his trunk, tossing things out of it in search for his Map when the worst happened: Ron found and ate Romilda’s love potion-spiked Cauldron Cakes. 

An hour later, when Ron fell to the floor in Slughorn’s office, twitching and foaming at the mouth, Harry would wish that love potion-spiked Cauldron Cakes were the worst thing to happen that day. 

.

.

.

.

.

By noon, Harry’s leg wouldn’t sit still, jittering up and down in little bounces to expel some of the nervous energy coursing through him. He should have been at the Inn by now. He should have been naked, on his knees, servicing some hard-up wizard with poor social skills, yet here he was, sitting uselessly in a chair in the Hospital Wing.

It was selfish, he knew, to want to be anywhere else, but he wasn’t  _ needed _ . Madam Pomfrey had already administered several antidotes and was doting on Ron’s unconscious body. Ginny and the twins were there, with Mr and Mrs Weasley on the way. Even Hermione had turned up, showing her support, despite months spent at arm’s length from Ron due to her intense dislike of Lavender. 

There was nothing to be done. 

Ginny cast a baleful look at Harry, sniffing in barely contained contempt.

_ Again _ .

Harry stood, his patience utterly shot. “Give your mum and dad my best,” he muttered to George, skirting around the bed and ducking out of the curtained off area, not looking at anyone.

“Oi!”

“You’re leaving?”

Harry didn’t answer, striding towards the double doors, cursing Madam Pomfrey for placing Ron at the very end of the Hospital Wing. 

“Harry!”

Sighing, Harry gave the door an envious look before turning to face Hermione and the twins, who had followed him. 

“What the hell, mate?” George frowned. “You’re just gonna take off? Ron’s been  _ poisoned _ —”

“Yes, I know, I  _ was _ there,” Harry groused, crossing his arms. “I’m sorry, but I have somewhere I need to be right now and it’s not like anything’s happening here.”

“So that’s it?” Fred asked, incredulous. “Look, I’m right grateful that you shoved that bezoar down Ron’s throat, but skipping out after what he’s been through? On his fucking _ birthday?! _ I mean, what could be so important for you to not be  _ here? _ Ron’s your  _ friend _ , Harry, he  _ needs  _ you.”

“ _ No _ , he doesn’t and he hasn’t for a while.” Harry bit his cheek to stop himself from saying anymore. The morning’s stress and his week-long abstinence was fraying his nerves. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to out his own secrets and then Harry would be more alone than ever. 

He didn’t have the patience for  _ any  _ of this. 

“Is this about Ginny?” Hermione asked tentatively. “I know you haven’t been getting on very well lately—”

“Ginny? What’s she done now?” Fred looked over his shoulder to where Ron and the visitor chairs were curtained from view. Ginny hadn’t bothered to pursue Harry like the others. “She was fine over Christmas…”

“Yeah, well...she wasn’t.” Harry grimaced. “Look, it’s not that I don’t want to be here. I just...this was a lot, okay? I need some time to shake this off and I can’t do that stuck in a hospital.” Harry clenched his fists, trying to contain the urge to just run away, the nervous energy desperate for an outlet. “I’m not what he  _ needs _ right now. I’m sorry.”

“And what do  _ you  _ need?” George asked, his jaw tight as his eyes wandered over Harry.

Harry swallowed roughly and said nothing. What  _ could  _ he say?— Sorry, but I have a long-standing appointment that your brother’s accident is keeping me from and if I don’t go, I’ll crawl out of my skin?

Something about Harry’s body language must have clued George in. Giving his twin a sardonic grin, George laughed, but the sound was far from amused. “He’s got better things to  _ do _ , Freddy. Guess we shouldn’t keep him.” Throwing Harry a disgusted look, George strode back to Ron’s bed, disappearing into the curtains.

“Wow. Okay then.” Fred smiled, thin lipped and forced. Hands in his pockets, he turned on his heel and walked away. “Have  _ fun _ , Harry.” 

It couldn’t have been more clear how disappointed they were with him.

“Harry?”

Hermione was looking between Harry and back at the end of the wing, looking hurt and confused. He could tell she knew she was missing something, something  _ big _ , but Harry didn’t have time to explain. Truth be told, he didn’t  _ want _ to explain. There was no reason he could give that would make her understand his ever-present need and why he couldn’t stay a minute longer doing nothing about it. 

“I’m sorry.” Harry took a few steps back, smiling sadly at the disappointment in her eyes. “I…” He shook his head and slipped out the door. 

There was nothing he could say.

This time, no one followed him. 

.

.

.

.

.

“Madam Pomfrey?” Hermione hesitantly approached the matron where she was rummaging in a supply cupboard. “I was wondering if I could trouble you for a moment?”

“Well, certainly!” She ushered Hermione to a nearby empty bed, drawing the privacy curtain around them with a wave of her wand, cutting off any outside sound and keeping their conversation private. “What’s ailing you, dearie?”

Hermione sat on the edge of the bed, fidgeting with her robes. “I’ve been feeling a little under the weather lately. Nausea, sometimes so bad I get sick. It comes and goes, but it's been over a week now and I was wondering if I might be coming down with the flu? Or some wizarding version of what muggles call the flu.”

“Let me have a look at you then.” Madam Pomfrey spent a few minutes tilting Hermione’s face this way and that, feeling her forehead, making her stick her tongue out. It all felt very much like a muggle doctor visit that Hermione felt herself relax a little. 

Sometimes it was nice to be reminded of home. 

Finally, the matron drew her wand and began to wave it while pacing around Hermione in a half-moon, first one way and then the other and then back again, her wand constantly in motion. 

Then, suddenly she paused, looking over at the privacy curtain for a long moment, her gaze unfocused. 

Hermione waited, growing more apprehensive the longer Madam Pomfrey stood still. Perhaps something had caught her attention through the curtain? The Weasley’s were still sitting vigil with Ron on that side of the room after all and, subdued though they were,  _ quiet  _ they were not. 

After a very long moment, Madam Pomfrey waved her wand again and, unlike all the other times, something happened. 

A soft white glow appeared at Hermione’s midriff, lighting up the examination area. 

“Ah, as I suspected…”

Hermione frowned. “Suspected what?”

Madam Pomfrey glanced at the privacy curtain again. After a beat, she shook her head and smiled. “Nothing, dear.” She sat on the bed next to Hermione.

For a moment, Hermione was sure the matron was going to take her hand, but the moment passed and Madam Pomfrey didn’t touch her. The closeness was likely meant to give her a sense of comfort, but all it did was worry Hermione all the more. Nothing good came from adults suddenly sitting next to you. It was meant to soften a blow.

“Am I right in saying that you’ve been sexually active lately?”

Hermione’s jaw dropped, her face heating with embarrassment. “Um...well,  _ yes _ , but—” It occurred to her why Madam Pomfrey would be asking that sort of question. She touched her belly, the white glow there fading into nothing. “”No, that’s impossible,” she whispered, hugging her middle, shaking her head in disbelief. A chill sank into her skin. “No, I cast the contraception charm myself!” she protested weakly, imploring with her eyes for Madam Pomfrey to say she had it all wrong, that she misunderstood.

“Be that as it may, it  _ is _ possible to make a mistake. Any number of things can go wrong when casting on yourself. Approaching a trained healer in these matters—”

“But I did it perfectly! I- I studied, I  _ practiced— _ ”

“My dear, I’m not insulting your talents or spellwork, but the fact remains: you are with child.” She hesitated a beat. “Do you know who the father is?” she asked gently.

“Of  _ course _ I know who she is,” Hermione snapped before sense caught up with her. She blushed violently, ashamed at her behavior. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…I’m not a  _ slut _ , ma’am.” 

Madam Pomfrey’s affronted look gentled. “I didn’t mean to imply that you were, not that there's anything wrong with exploring one’s sexuality — as long as you do it  _ safely _ . But this is a big castle...and things have been known to happen. As much as we try to guide young wizards to walk the path of decency, there are always those who use their gifts to take advantage. And it’s a sad fact that their victims may feel too ashamed to step forward.”

Hermione shook her head. “I haven’t been raped. But thank you,” she said, offering a grateful smile.

The matron was visibly relieved, some of the tension in her stiff posture easing away. “Good, good...I’m happy to hear that.” She paused, frowning a little. “I can’t help but wonder, though. You said you knew who ‘ _ she’ _ was. Could you possibly illuminate…?”

Hermione felt her cheeks heat again and bit her lip. She hadn’t realized she’d been so careless. Would Luna get in trouble? “Um...My— my girlfriend...she was born with  _ male _ genitalia. And- and we… _ well,”  _ Hermione looked down at her lap, picking at a hangnail. “Well we—"

Madam Pomfrey raised a hand. “I  _ quite _ understand, dear. Is your girlfriend  _ happy _ as she is? Any...unhealthy feelings about her body? Her identity? Being comfortable in one’s skin doesn’t come easy for some people.”

“No! She’s fine. Or at least she tells me she’s fine. I know she would  _ prefer _ to have female genitalia, but…." Hermione shrugged. 

Madam pomfrey smiled sadly. “I sympathize with people like that. To be trapped in a body that doesn’t match your soul… Nature can be cruel. It’s a pity that permanent bodily transfigurations were banned centuries ago.”

“But it could be done, yes?” Hermione latched onto the thread of hope before her, using it like a torch in the night to find her way through the growing horror at her situation. Privately, she had taken to scouring the library for books on permanent body modifications and healing magics, trying to see if there was some way she could find to help her girlfriend. That Luna’s mother had died trying to complete Luna’s change to a fully female body didn’t dissuade her, far from it — Hermione hadn’t been so motivated since founding S.P.E.W. or making the charmed Knuts for Dumbledore’s Army.

But so far her research hadn’t turned up anything.

Madam Pomfrey hesitated. “Well, in theory, yes, but such practices were banned and considered dark magic. Changing flesh so irrefutably has a cost. I’ve heard that _blood_ _magicks_ were at the heart of the issue. As much as your partner may desire to change herself...it _is_ illegal.”

Hermione’s face fell. No wonder she couldn’t find anything in the library on permanent sex changes. If anything, it would be in the restricted section, assuming Hogwarts had the material shelved at all. She doubted very much that any professor would write her a pass for that sort of thing.

The matron shook her herself. “I’m afraid we’ve gotten quite off-topic, Miss Granger. What we really need to discuss is  _ you _ and your options. You are sixteen. Normally, your parents would be required to decide whether to nullify the spark or allow it to grow, but as you are only months shy of being of age, I think it fair that the decision be yours.”

Talking about Luna had been a shield against the reality that Hermione desperately wanted to hide from, but there was no hiding now, not from this. She couldn’t ignore the fact that a  _ baby _ was growing inside her.

_ This is real.  _

“I’m sorry, you called it a— a ‘spark’?” Hermione asked, feeling more overwhelmed than she could ever remember feeling. 

This felt...big and Hermione felt very small in the face of it.

“A ‘spark’ is a neutral term we healers use. For some, using the word ‘fetus’ or ‘baby’ can generate very strong emotions, particularly when considering... _not_ carrying the pregnancy to term.”

A thousand emotions pulled at Hermione, tangling together, too hard to pick any one out. She ignored the lot, defaulting to reason. It calmed her a little. “You mean like an abortion.”

Madam Pomfrey nodded, her expression neutral. “Yes, the nullifying or extinguishing of a spark is the wizarding equivalent to a muggle abortion. But our methods involve far less invasive means, from my understanding.”

_ Probably a potion or a handy spell, _ Hermione thought, feeling vaguely ill at the idea of snuffing out the ‘spark’ of life inside her. She pictured it in her head. A wave of a wand and  _ poof,  _ all her problems gone...like magic. Nothing seemed less magical.

Not when the spark had been given to her by Luna.

“But I could also keep it?” Hermione wasn’t sure what she really thought of this option, but she felt obligated to voice it, trying out the words, as if saying them would make the idea less  _ terrifying _ . She had never pictured having a child in her arms, raising it, caring for it. She had always been too independent for that kind of dream, too...self-absorbed, if truth be told. 

But lately, Hermione had become used to thinking about someone besides herself. She looked forward to seeing Luna, to making her smile and laugh. 

Was it so crazy to dream further,  _ bigger? _

“Accommodations can be made in the castle for pregnancy and child care, shared dwelling even, so that the partner can remain close to reduce as much stress as possible. But it can be difficult, the combination of schoolwork and parenting at such a young age — not that I’m attempting to sway your decision!” Madam Pomfrey said hastily, raising her hands defensively. “But it is important to consider  _ all  _ facets of your decision.”

Having a family of her own had always felt so foreign, unobtainable, a nebulous thing meant for other people but not  _ her _ , and yet here it was, just within reach, a  _ possibility  _ — a terrifying, complicated,  _ beautiful  _ possibility.

Hermione nodded absently, her thoughts reeling, making her dizzy. 

“You may also consider giving it up for adoption. Once born, the Ministry would take possession of the infant and find a suitable home.”

Nausea rose again, but it had nothing to do with morning sickness. 

After dealing with Umbridge and watching the Ministry staunchly ignore Voldemort’s return for a year, Hermione wasn’t keen to give an innocent child to people who bollocksed things up so blessedly often. If anything, Hermione would abort the baby herself before allowing that to happen.

Madam Pomfrey touched her shoulder, drawing Hermione out of her muddy thoughts.

“You are a young woman, soon to be out in the world as a free agent. All of your options are serious, as they will determine not only the course of your life, but that of the spark within you. I urge you to take some time to think about what you want. Now, there’s no need to decide right away, but it  _ would  _ be best that your decision be made within the next few weeks so that your magical core can maintain as much stability as possible if you choose to extinguish it. The larger the spark, the larger the change in your magical core, which can lead to unreliable spellcasting and mental distress as your magic compensates for the loss of the spark.” 

Hermione’s stomach rolled. Unconsciously she hugged her middle, queasy at the thought of extinguishing the spark within her...at the thought of  _ keeping _ it... 

A few weeks. 

A handful of days. 

And then she would have to make a choice, the course of her life decided in the flip of a coin.

Rising, Madam Pomfrey summoned a few scrolls, which she pressed into Hermione’s hands. “I’ll go get you a vial of Expecting Elixir. A few sips should be enough to clear up your morning sickness in a jiffy, with enough to spare for the rest of the week.” She patted Hermione on the shoulder, smiling. “If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here whenever you need. You are not alone. And if I may be so bold — talk with your partner, but remember that the decision, ultimately, is  _ yours _ . You shouldn’t be pressured by  _ anyone _ into a choice you don’t want.”

Numb, Hermione watched the matron sweep out of the curtained area. Without the calming presence of Madam Pomfrey, she felt alone, lost, her thoughts and fears spiraling and loud, making it hard to breathe. 

More to distract herself than from actual interest, Hermione turned her attention to the scrolls clutched tight in her hand, nearly crushing them in her anxiety. There were three of them. Each had a colorful title on its outermost furl of parchment. 

— _ ‘Give Your Baby A Brighter Future (A Guide To Letting Go).’ _

— _ Why Ending Your Pregnancy Is NOT The End Of The World.’ _

— _ ‘Teen and Pregnant: What To Expect.’ _

If she were in a muggle doctor’s office, these would be pamphlets. 

Hermione snorted, appreciating the irony. 

She rubbed her belly, unable to feel anything like a miniature human inside. If not for the bouts of... _ morning sickness _ ...it would never have occurred to Hermione that she was pregnant. 

How strange that so much had changed in one day. 

And now, on top of studying and passing her classes and trying to prepare for life outside of Hogwarts (assuming she even  _ survived  _ the war), she had another decision to make, one that could make or break everything. 

  
  


Absently, she wondered if this was how Harry felt all the time, the weight of the world on his shoulders.

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The barkeep slipped into the room, seconds after Harry finally arrived, coming in through the hidden passage in the rear of the building. 

The Invisibility Cloak slid to the floor as Harry began to shuck off his clothes as fast as he could, hoping that speed would curb the temper flashing in those steely blue eyes.

“You’re late.” 

"I’m sorry.” How many times had he said that today? “A friend of mine was poisoned. I couldn’t get away any earlier.” 

He’d taken the passage at an awkward hunched run to try to make up for lost time, cracking his head more than once on stray roots coming through from the earthen ceiling, but he was still four hours late. 

Sweaty and panting to catch his breath, he knelt on the floor at the barkeep’s feet.

“Hmph.” The old man stepped close, towering over Harry. 

A dirty thumb was shoved into Harry’s mouth, pressing firmly on his tongue. Fingers cupped his jaw in an impersonal display of authority, holding Harry’s mouth open and still. Breath hitching, Harry curled his tongue around the digit, teasing it, trying to apologize without words. 

The barkeep barked out a mean laugh. “Poisoned friend, you say? And still you came. Fucking  _ slut _ ,” he sneered. 

The thumb was pulled from Harry’s mouth only for that same hand to slap Harry across the face, knocking him over to splay on the floor, dazed, glasses askew. 

“You’ll work three at a time until I feel you’ve made up for the hours your tardiness has cost me,” the barkeep growled, slipping the charmed hood over Harry’s head. Gathering up the Cloak and scattered clothing, he stalked across the room, walking straight through the wall into a secret passage he used to watch Harry entertain customers. 

Rock hard, his face stinging, Harry crawled to the bed. Despite the shame settling heavy in his gut, he couldn’t find it in him to regret coming. He  _ needed _ this. 

Already a thrill of anticipation sang in his blood.

The door opened. 

A weight lifted from Harry’s soul.

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Ron was hovering on his broom in front of the Quidditch goal hoops, shivering in the bitter cold wind buffering him about. A pair of beaters was flying towards him, knocking a bludger back and forth as they came closer and closer… 

It wasn’t until they were halfway across the pitch that Ron realized something was wrong with them. They were shaped all funny, like they had more arms than they should. Gasping in horror, he realized they were  _ spiders _ , though it seemed as though the brooms they flew on were gripped by human legs. They were monstrous and grotesque, all hair and legs and too many eyes, and they were flying right towards him. 

On the other side of the pitch — which he could see in full clarity — were Ginny and Lavender, hovering in place on brooms and dressed as chasers. Their brooms were so close that their breasts pressed together, arms twined about the other as they made out, passionately kissing in midair. 

They were completely oblivious to Ron’s plight. 

He stared at them, cock twitching, forgetting the danger he was in until a spider-beater knocked the bludger at him. It soared at his face—

With a gasp, Ron woke to a world of white. 

For a terrifying moment, he was sure he was dead, killed by the bludger, and that no one was going to miss him because Gin and Lav were together now—

“Well look who’s finally up and about!”

Ron startled so badly his voice cracked in the middle of his shriek. He flailed wildly, his limbs tangling in the sheets. 

Madam Pomfrey appeared at his side, freeing him from his blanket prison. “There, no need to make a fuss. You are safe and sound in the hospital wing, dear. You have excellent timing. I’ve only just sent your family off to the Great Hall for a bite to eat. Every last one of them had been ready to stand guard and starve themselves until you regained consciousness,” she tutted, checking him over with her eyes and then her wand, waving it over him in elegant flicks and twirls. “It’s enough that I have  _ one _ Weasley to tend to, I hardly need to be stuck treating the entire family over their own stubbornness, noble though it may be. Told them not to come back for an hour if they knew what’s good for them. That should be  _ plenty  _ of time to look you over without any well-meaning interruptions, thank you! Easy now,” she warned as he sat up against the headrails. “Don’t over do it. You’re still in something of a delicate state. Just breathe and relax...that’s it…”

"What happened? Did the bludger hit me?"

Madam Pomfrey blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"The bludger," Ron insisted, shivering. He drew the hospital blanket back over him, humming as it’s warming charm eased away some of his residual panic. "The one the spider people attacked me with."

Madam Pomfrey frowned. "I think perhaps you're still a little tired dear. I can assure you that neither spiders nor bludgers were involved in your accident."

"Accident? What accident?"

"I'm told you ate Cauldron Cakes that had been laced with a potent love potion. Professor Slughorn cleared that up readily enough, but shortly after, you were unfortunate enough to drink poisoned mead. If it wasn't for the quick thinking of Mr Potter, you wouldn't be here.You've been unconscious for over a day." She hesitated, looking uncertain. "There's something else...and I've been debating whether to bring it up at all, as it's rather a moot point now. But if it were me, I would want to know."

A queasy feeling settled in Ron's stomach.

"What?"

She sat on the chair beside his bed, looking sad and hesitant. "You have been sexually active with other boys, haven't you?"

Ron's face went beet red, looking everywhere else but her.

"It's nothing to be ashamed about, dear. It's perfectly normal. But some wizards are capable of supporting life. It's less common nowadays, but from time to time, under the right circumstances, a wizard can become pregnant."

_ Pregnant _ .

That word filled Ron with dread. He wondered vaguely if that was hypocritical of him, when he fantasized so often about knocking up Lavender...or his sister. Even Harry, a few times. But he'd never actually thought it through how serious, how  _ life-changing  _ pregnancy was until Madam Pomfrey brought the reality home.

"...I'm pregnant…" Ron whispered, staring down at his lap.

_ I'm carrying a baby _ . 

A thought occurred to him. 

Last week, Ginny had some of the boys fuck him while wearing the blindfold — which had been amazing, but not once had any of them given thought to contraception charms. It could be Dean's...or Seamus's...or Colin's...or Cormac's...

It could even be  _ Bill's _ .

"How far along am I? Can you tell?" 

Madam Pomfrey hesitated.

"That's just it, dear. You... _ aren't _ ."

Ron blinked. "I'm not what?"

Madam Pomfrey bowed her head, somber, her eyes weary. “The poison was fast and quite deadly. Mr Potter saved your life by getting you to swallow a bezoar, but a bezoar only counteracts some poisons, others it can only slow. The poison was very deadly and still active in your body by the time you were brought here. The bezoar slowed it down, which gave Professor Snape and I time to treat you. But once we had the poison neutralized..." She sighed, shook her head.

"It...died?" A lump formed in his throat, some nameless emotion welling up inside him.

She nodded. "There was no chance against the poison. It was too fast, too volatile...the spark too fragile. It was barely alight when we got you here for treatment. After all the potions and spellwork were done, it had gone. A mercy, I think. There's no telling the side effects a poison like that would have had on a growing baby, how it would have warped it. There’s a reason potion-use is restricted during pregnancy. Too often babies are born with mental disorders, physical ailments… Magic interfering with such delicate growth can have unintended side effects. It was a mercy to go when it did.” She smiled bleakly, though it looked more like a grimace of pain.

Ron knew Madam meant it as a comfort, but all he could feel was a widening maw of sadness that threatened to swallow him whole. "How long— Was there a way to know how old it was? If it was a girl or boy?" 

Did it even matter? He’d never given fatherhood any serious thought. What did it matter now? Why did he feel he needed to  _ know? _

"I would estimate a couple months old. It was too soon to tell the gender, I'm afraid.” 

_ Bill's _ , he thought, bringing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them.  _ It had been Bill's _ . 

Something tickled his cheek. He swiped a hand across his face. It came away wet. 

Tears. 

He hadn't realized he was crying. 

Madam Pomfrey held out a handkerchief, which he took and used. “I know this is a bit much to take in after the morning you’ve been through. If you prefer, I can take the memory away. You’ll never know what we discussed apart from today’s incidents. You’ll recover and carry on and live without the burden of this loss.”

Sniffling into the handkerchief, Ron shook his head vehemently. “No. I don’t want to forget. It doesn’t deserve that.” His face screwed up, holding back a howl of misery. 

_ Bill’s _ baby…

And he’d lost it. 

It didn’t matter that the poisoning wasn’t Ron’s fault, that nothing could have been done to save it, he felt responsible for the loss all the same. His first child...

No, Ron wouldn’t wipe his memory clean just because it was  _ convenient _ . He had lost a part of himself today and that needed to be recognized, remembered, even though it hurt. 

_ Stupid _ , he cursed himself,  _ you didn't even  _ know _ you were pregnant and now you're upset that you aren't anymore? _

Well, he’d never know now, would he? He’d never know how he would have reacted to being pregnant, what he would have chosen to do. 

That choice had been stripped from him, just like the baby, and Ron felt hollow for it.


	4. Mar 7th

Mar 7th, 1997

  
  


It was a cold gloomy day, with a wicked fickle wind that was here one moment and gone the next, making the plod to Herbology rather miserable. 

Harry and Hermione side-stepped to avoid walking through a large puddle of water in the dip of the path. The Hufflepuff behind them wasn't so quick and started cursing loud enough to turn heads. 

Harry continued to watch Hermione out of the corner of his eye, just as he had all morning. The day was overcast and bland, making everyone look drawn, but Hermione had looked stressed and tired for days. "Are you feeling alright? You're looking a bit peaky." 

"I'm fine!" She bit out irritably, clutching her books tighter to her chest. 

Harry sighed. This wasn't the first time he'd asked after her this week. It also wasn't the first time she'd bitten his head off about it. He tried to not let it get to him. “Okay, he said softly. “But if you ever need an ear or something, I’m here.”

The pinched, irritated look eased into a contrite grimace. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to snap at you. I've just a lot on my mind." 

“‘S okay.” Harry gave her a cheeky grin. “I figure after all the times I blew up at you last year, I’m due a little grief.” 

She chuckled at that, cracking the first smile he’d seen from her since Ron’s little accident. She bumped his shoulder with her own. “Thanks. For being there.”

“Anytime.” 

A group of students was approaching them from the greenhouses, heading back to the castle. With a surge of dread, Harry realized it was the seventh year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. 

Amongst them was Cormac McLaggen. 

Harry grit his teeth against whatever shite the prat was going to say. With Ron still out sick, Cormac was filling in for Keeper and he kept hounding Harry about formations and tactics for their upcoming match against Hufflepuff on Saturday. The barrage of unwanted advice made Harry want to knock him unconscious with a beater’s bat, no matter what it would do to the team’s chances of winning tomorrow. 

“Alright there, Harry? I’ve got a few fresh ideas that I want to run by you at tonight's practice.”   
  


“Looking forward to it,” Harry drawled with blatant unenthusiasm, not pausing to talk further.

Hermione waited until they were out of Cormac's earshot to speak up. "Quidditch going well then?"

"Yeah, when he remembers who the team captain is, the pushy git," Harry groused. "Wish I could say we were better off with Ron, but…."

"Yes, but." Hermione tactfully said nothing further about Ron's dismal skills as a Keeper.

It was just two more days, Harry told himself. One night of practice and the game tomorrow, then no more Cormac.

What could possibly go wrong?

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.

Hermione and Luna emerged from the trap door of the Astronomy Tower and stepped out onto the open roof, the night sky glittering above them. Carefully tucking Harry’s Invisibility Cloak into the sack she’d brought, Hermione shivered in the cool of the night, though Luna didn’t seem bothered at all.    
  


“Oh,  _ wow... _ this is so  _ romantic _ !” Luna spun in a circle, her arms stretched out, head tilted back to take in the stars. 

“Yes, well...this was the only secluded place I could think of." She hadn’t anticipated not being able to access the Room of Requirement. Never before had the door failed to appear to her. It had unsettled her (and her nerves were already shot). Normally, she would have picked any old classroom and warded it herself to avoid being overheard, but since learning her contraception charm failed, Hermione was experiencing a profound sense of doubt in her magic. The Astronomy Tower had been the first secluded place that came to mind. 

Luckily, Luna seemed happy enough to follow her along. 

“I’ll have to thank Harry for letting us borrow his Cloak,” Luna said as she pulled Hermione over to the battlements ringing the Tower roof. “Getting around Peeves unseen was lovely. He’s been making rude gestures at me in the halls. It’s very distracting.”

Right then, Hermione decided it might be worth a letter to the twins on how to prank a poltergeist. She didn’t like people messing with her Luna, not even a mean old ghost. 

They stared out over the grounds. The moon was but a sliver of light, hardly enough to see by, but it was still a spectacular view. Neither spoke for a while. Even under so much stress and overthinking twice as much as usual, Hermione began to relax. Being around Luna always made her feel better. 

Eventually Hermione could put it off no longer. 

“Um...so the reason I brought you here was to talk with you about something. Something important." Hermione’s throat got tight, tears prickling in her eyes. She had to take a few deep breaths to continue. "You remember the contraception charm I told you about? Well...I didn't go to a healer, I cast it on myself. I was so sure I could handle it… I- I must have made a mistake with the charm. It… didn't take."

"Hermione?" Luna cocked her head, looking more concerned than Hermione had ever seen her. 

"I'm pregnant!" Hermione wailed, clapping a hand over her mouth to quiet herself as all the anger and confusion and worry she'd been dealing with for days finally found an outlet. 

Sobbing into her hand, she sank to the stone floor. Her bushy hair fell around her face, hiding her further against the wall. She didn't notice Luna had knelt down beside her until arms were wrapping around Hermione, cradling her against Luna's chest. Like a lost child, Hermione burrowed into the safety of her girlfriend's loving embrace, too tired to hold back the rage of emotions inside her. 

For nearly a week, she had distanced herself from Luna, afraid to let herself be vulnerable when such a momentous choice rested on her shoulders. It felt like her mind and heart were battling for control and she was  _ terrified _ by what she wanted, what it would do to their tender relationship. Overwhelmed, Hermione couldn't help but take the offered solace, clutching at Luna's robes desperately, holding her close for a little longer, just a little longer...

Luna just kept holding her, rocking her, humming an uneven tune as Hermione sobbed her heart out on her girlfriend's shoulder. 

Eventually, Hermione quieted. She felt  _ exhausted _ , her mind was still teaming with unsaid fears she wasn't sure she could speak. Luna kept humming and rocking, not rushing her or making her talk before she was ready. That alone gave Hermione the courage to ask the question she'd been dreading.

“Are you upset with me?” Hermione asked in a small voice. As worried as she was about the future and the decision she needed to make, right now she was more concerned with how Luna felt. 

As it turned out, she needn't have worried

Luna kissed her cheek. “Of course not, silly. Why would I be?”

“Because I messed up,” her voice trembled as she leaned heavily against Luna, taking comfort from the warm embrace. It helped keep her shivers at bay.

“You know, you’re very hard on yourself.” Luna smiled. “It’s okay to make mistakes. They take you where you’re supposed to be, even if it’s not necessarily where you  _ want _ to be.”

Wiping at her messy face, Hermione sat back so she could look at Luna properly. “That’s...incredibly wise, I think.” Sometimes Luna said things that blindsided her, reminding her just why Ravenclaw was the perfect place for her oddity of a girlfriend. People didn’t realize how smart Luna was (sometimes even Hermione forgot).

“I have my moments.” Luna twined their fingers together, loosely holding Hermione’s hands. “What do you want to do, love?” Her light-blue eyes were kind and patient and so full of love that Hermione felt her heart ache and skip a beat. 

“I want to keep it,” Hermione sobbed, clutching at Luna’s hands, terrified of losing her. “Isn’t that stupid? I mean, with exams and- and studying and, oh let’s not forget about the bloody  _ war _ starting around us—” 

Luna kissed her, cutting off her impassioned gibbering. “You’re not stupid, Hermione Jean Granger,” she whispered, her face so close that her lips brushed against Hermione’s with every word. “You’re anything  _ but _ stupid. You’re kind and protective and have such a big heart. You’re my brave lioness.” Luna kissed her again.

Blushing furiously, Hermione giggled against Luna's mouth. Breaking the kiss, she pressed their foreheads together. “I mean it. It would be  _ crazy _ . Like, I have  _ no _ idea how to handle kids, much less a little  _ baby _ , and I—” Hermione broke off, crying openly again. “I just know that it’s  _ yours _ and I absolutely  _ adore  _ you, and the thought of getting rid of it—” She hiccuped, covering her messy face in her hands, which Luna pried away with gentle patience as Hermione shook her head, trying to hide how upset the thought of aborting the life inside her made her feel. 

“Hermione Granger…” Luna smiled, dreamily besotted. “I adore you too. And I’ll happily follow you down whatever path you want to take. You’re my garflax bug!”

Hermione broke into a fit of helpless giggles. “You’re absolutely  _ bonkers _ , you know,” she sighed fondly, pressing a chaste kiss to Luna’s hand. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“So, yes?”

“Yes to what?” 

“To everything?”

“Yes.” Tears in her eyes, Hermione grinned and pulled Luna into a hug, wanting so badly to bottle this moment, to never let it end. With her love in her arms, Hermione felt ready to take on anything. Over Luna’s shoulder, the night seemed more beautiful than ever, the stars never looked so bright. 

Or maybe she’d never been so happy. 

“Yes to everything.” 

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Harry was busy clearing up the team’s practice gear, having dismissed everyone to get some sleep before the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match in the morning, when Cormac came striding back to make yet  _ another _ helpful suggestion. 

"Potter, I think instead of—"

Harry lost his patience.

" _ Look _ , you need to get it through your thick skull that _ I  _ am captain here, not _ you, _ so you can take your crummy advice and eat it for all I care because once Ron's better, you're _ gone!  _ I'm  _ sick _ of you!" Harry shouted. 

He'd well and truly had enough. He didn't care if he pissed off Cormac. The arrogant fuck could skiv off the game and cost Gryffindor the match tomorrow for all Harry cared because he was _ done _ . Maybe it was the sexual frustration he was suffering from, or maybe it was because Cormac was one of Ginny's new toys and that made Harry hate Cormac’s stupid face all the more, but Harry was done keeping his cool and his mouth shut. 

He was just  _ done _ .

Cormac was gobsmacked by the outburst. Harry didn't see the shock mutate into rage, having turned on his heel, striding back to the castle, so he was therefore unprepared when Cormac drew his wand.

_ "Stupify!" _

The spell rang out a split second before it hit Harry square in the back. There was nothing he could do. He pitched forward, his world tumbling into black.

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Harry slowly began to resurface from darkness. 

His body felt heavy, weighted down, and there was a grunting sound nearby. As he grew more and more aware, his predicament felt very familiar…

The grunting he could hear coincided with the unmistakable feeling of being  _ fucked _ , a hard cock slamming deep into his ass in quick thrusts that knocked the breath from Harry's lungs — probably what woke him up. He couldn't make out the face of his attacker, his glasses were missing, but he was sure he was in the Gryffindor changing room. The burgundy and gold pendants on the walls were unmistakable. 

Harry’s naked back was dragged back and forth against a hard unforgiving surface, his tender flesh bruised and scraped with every thrust. Whatever he was being fucked on, Harry couldn’t move off of it, couldn’t fight, his wrists and ankles bound by what felt like rope that stretched his limbs out in all directions, keeping him held and spread open for his attacker’s pleasure.

This was just like last summer, when he woke to Dudley forcibly taking his virginity and Harry helpless but to  _ take _ it...

...and _ like _ it.

Because once again, Harry realized he was rock hard and  _ very _ into what was being done to him.

With a groan, Harry bucked up as best he could in the unknown man’s tight grip on his hips. 

"Ginny wasn't kidding, you really are just a filthy slag, Potter."

"Cormac," he bit out, rage belatedly flowing through him. It was then that Harry remembered their fight, how he’d turned his back to the git —  _ stupid _ , he cursed himself. "You attacked me from behind, you coward!"

Cormac laughed. "I call you a whore as I  _ rape _ you and all you complain about is how I knocked you out?" Cormac slowed and rolled his hips, cock grinding against Harry's prostate long enough to make Harry's vision go funny. He laughed at Harry's agonized groan. "I should have done this  _ months _ ago. Maybe I'd have made Keeper back during trials if I'd given you a little taste of _ this _ —" He thrust deep as he could go, rolling his hips again as he made Harry take every inch.

Harry panted and thrashed his head this way and that, toes curling in pleasure. "Please," Harry whimpered weakly, "Cormac please, don't…"

"Don't what?" Cormac slapped him across the face. "Don't use you like I  _ know  _ you're gagging for? All the boys Ginny likes to play with had so many stories about you, about how much cock the Chosen One could take, about what an insatiable  _ cumslut _ you are. I didn't believe them until now. Look at you.” Cormac laughed. “You're fucking _ drooling _ , Potter." 

Harry was, too. His pleading had been half-hearted at best, his blood afire with a cock inside him, stretching him wide, too far gone to control himself.

"No...don't want…" Harry lied even as he bucked up into Cormac's next thrust. 

"Shut up, you ungrateful cunt!" Cormac growled. He pulled his wand from his open robes and pointed it at Harry. A gag appeared in Harry's mouth. "If you can't lie convincingly, then don't lie at all. Not with your hole trying to milk me of my cum, you greedy whore."

Harry shouldn't  _ enjoy  _ this, but it was all he could do to not beg Cormac to fuck him harder. He was only human, he'd fantasized enough times about bending over one of the couches in the Common Room and letting Cormac have a go. 

Well Cormac was certainly having a go now and Harry was helpless to stop him. 

With that thought Harry found himself on the edge of orgasm, eyes screwed shut and whimpering as Cormac pinched a nipple, twisting—

Gasping, heat and pleasure surged from Harry's groin, rocketing up his spine. His entire body flooded with pleasure. Shuddering, he clamped down on Cormac's cock, cum splattering across his chest.

"Fuck! You stupid cunt, I didn't say you could come!" Cormac railed him, fucking Harry through his orgasm, keeping up his furious pace until Harry was once again on edge and begging to come, his cries muffled by the gag. 

Finally, Cormac slowed, grinning widely at Harry's disappointed mewl. "You know, Ginny was quite adamant that anyone who plays with her doesn't play with you, but I think that what Ginny didn't know won't hurt her. I'll wait ‘til all your mates are nice and busy with her, then steal into your dorm and give your tight little ass the fucking needs." 

He sped up, groaning. 

"I'll make sure you're sleeping every time I sink my cock into you so that I know  _ exactly _ when you wake, clenching down on me, teasing me like a two-knut whore from Knockturn Alley." 

Cormac was slamming hard and fast now, hardly withdrawing, his balls slapping against Harry's ass. 

Cormac's little fantasy should have chilled him, a threat of more violence against him, but Harry could visualize it, Cormac creeping into the room while Harry lay defenseless, asleep on his front, making it easy for Cormac to slide his pajama bottoms down, crawl into the bed over him and ease his cock into Harry's prepared hole, Harry still asleep until the girth of Cormac stretching his channel wide woke him up—

Harry’s thoughts were spinning, a fog clouding his mind as he slipped further and further into his head, his body merely a shell for Cormac to fuck as Harry  _ flew _ , pleasure driving him high and free…

And then Cormac came, emptying load after load of cum into Harry, pulling out soon after and casting a binding charm at Harry's genitals. A thin cord wrapped around Harry's cock and balls, coiling snug enough to prevent Harry from falling over the edge again.

"There!" Cormac gave Harry's throbbing prick a light swat. "That's better. Used and soiled, just like the whore you are." He cocked his head, considering. "I think I'll leave you here. Seeing as you think we're so _ ready _ for the match tomorrow, you can beat everyone here to it." He tucked himself away into his robes and strode from the room, giving Harry's trussed up body one last appreciative look and then he was gone.

Harry whimpered. 

No, Cormac wouldn't—

Silence rang, oppressive and relentless. 

Harry tried to shout, but the gag was still held in place by Cormac's magic, same as his arms and legs. He was stuck tight, naked and aching to come. He pulled frantically at his bindings, his wrists and ankles chafing, but there was no give and all his grunts and pleas were muffled by the gag. His cock throbbed in its bindings, twitching uselessly at Harry's writhing.

Harry fell still, only the sound of his breathing for company.

Cormac was gone.

Gradually, Harry began to drift again, like he had on the first day back to school when Malfoy had left him naked, used, and paralysed on the train for Filch to find (and vigorously use). He was no less hard now than he was then and his mind was falling into the same grey space again, becoming blessedly detached from his body, though distantly he was aware that he was still desperate for touch, to _ come,  _ not that he had a way to achieve it.

He drifted, his breathing ragged, eyes unfocused in the dim torchlight from the sconces. 

He  _ needed... _

He didn't know how long he lay like that, but eventually the door opened. Harry was dimly aware of it and the footsteps that approached. His blood sang with pent up arousal, his skin desperate for touch. 

Nothing else mattered.

"Ooh dearie…" A soft voice clucked their tongue. "Who left you here like this?"

Harry blinked vacantly at the face of Madam Hooch, not seeing how her eyes devoured him, perusing his bared flesh voraciously.

The flying instructor traced over the gag in Harry's mouth. "Poor thing...you must be so  _ uncomfortable _ . I can help you, if you like…"

A light drag of a fingernail up the underside of Harry's cock made the breath catch in his throat. He tossed his head, mewling piteously. 

"I can help you, Mr Potter. I can give you the release so  _ cruelly _ denied you. But you can't tell anyone." She caressed his bottom lip with her thumb. "And I mean _ anyone _ . Understood?"

Vaguely, Harry nodded, unsure what he was agreeing to, but too lost in his head to fight against the ache in his balls any longer.

He  _ needed _ to come.

He didn't care how it happened anymore.

It wasn't until Madam Hooch began undressing that Harry realized he had signed up for a prolonged torture session. He watched silently as more and more skin was bared to his eyes. She was rather trim, her breasts perky for her age and smallish, but they suited her athletic frame. Between her legs was a tidy thatch of greying pubic hair just over her cunt. 

Harry stared at it. He'd only ever seen one vagina before and it had been Ginny's, her mound kept smooth and hairless. This was different and interesting. Even so, trepidation ran through him. Harry had never fucked Ginny. He had no idea what to expect from this.

Madam Hooch spared a moment to transfigure the bench under Harry into a wider, bed-like surface, growing cushions beneath Harry — a welcome change to the unforgiving bare wood that Cormac had fucked him on. The older witch crawled onto it, swinging a leg over Harry's head, straddling him. 

It didn’t escape his notice that the ropes were still tying him down, holding him in place. 

She looked him in the eye as she positioned herself just over Harry's face, her cunt already wet and musky. "You want to come, boy?"

Hesitantly, Harry nodded, the fog in his head clearing in the face of his confusion and worry, but his cock was still hard, twitching uselessly, and he had a feeling that he couldn't find release unless he did whatever the witch asked. 

She smiled. "Now then.  _ I _ will remove your gag and  _ you _ will put that mouth to work." Gently, the gag was worked free, allowing Harry to rest his jaw for the moment — until he realized what Madam Hooch wanted, She settled low over his face, her clit pressed to his lips, leaving no room for error. 

Harry had watched Mr Weasley eat Ginny out a handful of times during the Christmas break. It didn't seem difficult, if tedious. There simply wasn't enough flesh to work with, he'd thought, turned off by the idea. How did you even know if they were doing it right? A clit doesn't lengthen and harden, doesn't twitch and give any sign that you're pleasing it.

Harry found out very quickly that this was  _ not _ the case. 

After a few tentative flicks of his tongue, Madam Hooch’s clit began to engorge, not a lot, but it felt thicken, now less yielding than before. Flattening his tongue, Harry laved across it in thick swipes, bathing it in saliva. It was an artless task, one that left much of his mouth wanting for something to fill it, but it was simple enough. 

And if Madam Hooch's soft groans were any indication, he wasn't doing too bad at it. 

Boldened, Harry allowed his tongue to drift lower, sweeping across the witch's slit, parting her labia with a firm flick, caressing the wet heat of her pussy. He licked his lips. It wasn't bad, just... _ different _ . Earthy and heady, less bitter than the precum he was used to swallowing when he pleasured his partners with his mouth. Certainly nothing he was bothered by. 

Madam Hooch pressed his face closer, her wiry pubic hair tickling his nose. "Dip that clever tongue inside, boy." She threw her head back in a low groan. "Yes…" she hissed, her hips rocking forwards and back, riding his tongue as Harry delved into her, curling his tongue in upward flicks. "Ooh..  _ just _ like that... _ yes _ …" 

Her cunt fluttered around his tongue, trying to grasp at it as Harry's mouth was held tight to Madam Hooch's groin, the witch shuddering as she came on his face in a throaty sigh. 

After a long moment, she lifted from Harry's face, letting him breathe properly again. 

At first, Harry thought they were done, having gotten the older woman off, but Madam Hooch crawled down his body and settled her wet cunt just over Harry's cock. Keeping eye contact the whole time, she began to lower, her folds engulfing him, squeezing Harry as she took him inch by inch until  _ finally  _ she was fully sat on his cock. 

Bucking, Harry's eyes rolled back in his head. An unfamiliar velvet heat wrapped around him, better than any blow job Harry had been given. He felt like he was being hugged, but far more intimately. He keened, the bindings still in place, making it impossible to come even while buried deep in the witch's cunt.

"Hush now," Madam Hooch whispered, rolling her hips, turning Harry's keen into a pitiful mewl that he hadn't a hope of containing. She bent down and covered his lips with her own, her tongue driving into his mouth, not unlike how Harry's tongue had driven into her folds not moments ago. She claimed his mouth for her own, swallowing his wordless pleas. Rocking her hips, Madam Hooch lifted higher and higher until she was forced to break the kiss so she could ride him properly, slamming down and grinding her hips in a steady rhythm that curled Harry's toes.

"Oh please…" Harry groaned _. "Please!" _

The need to come was all-consuming, not quite driving him into the grey space Cormac fucked him into before — he was too on edge to sink into it — so he lay in limbo, a hell of its own as Harry pulled uselessly at his bindings. Madam Hooch's tight cunt gripped him, her wet folds caressing and teasing him until Harry was all but blind from pleasure, tears falling down his face. " _Please_ let me come, please let me come, please let me...let me…" he begged, his voice fading into a whisper, need stealing it away.

"Almost... almost—oh _ Circe! _ Come inside me, boy!" There was no wand in Madam Hooch's hands, but the bindings on Harry's cock as balls vanished anyway, as though they had been waiting for her command. 

There was no stopping the surge of Harry's orgasm now. Bucking his hips, Harry came into a cunt for the first time, moaning loudly as his balls drew up and expelled all the cum that had pent up inside him since Cormac had left him gods knew how long ago. 

He must have passed out for a moment because the next thing he knew, Madam Hooch was getting dressed nearby and all of Harry's bindings were gone. 

Finally free, Harry rolled onto his side, curling a little on himself as he caught his breath, shivering helplessly in the chill of the changing room.

_ What had just happened? _

A hand threaded into his hair, tilting Harry’s head so that Madam Hooch could kiss him. She hummed softly, caressing his tongue with hers much more sedately than she had while riding his cock. "That's a good boy," cooed Madam Hooch, petting him as if Harry was a well-behaved dog. Despite his confusion and vaguely unsettled feelings, the compliment soothed some of his ruffled feathers and Harry blushed.

"Now...it's  _ quite _ past curfew. Let's get you cleaned up and I'll take you back to your Tower, hmm?" She summoned his glasses and placed them on his face, doing most of the work to return Harry to a respectable state.

A dull haze had settled into Harry's thoughts as he walked with Madam Hooch back to the castle.

He didn't know what to think. 

The last time anyone had simply  _ taken _ him regardless of what Harry wanted had been months and months ago (with the exception of his trips to the Inn, of course, which Harry had come to look forward to even if he was blackmailed to be there). Harry's own sexual activities had since blurred the edges of that night on the train when first Malfoy, then Filch, had raped him and left him helpless, unable to come. Tonight had been no different and no less confusing because — despite the liberties taken with his person — Harry couldn't find it within him to hate his abusers. Maybe it was the pleasure still lingering in his veins or the vague smell of sex on his skin despitie Madam Hooch's thorough cleaning charms, but a deep contentment flowed through him, calming his troubled thoughts into something he could deal with and understand, like when he was roughly fucked at the Inn, his body carelessly used for another's pleasure.

Services rendered.

After all, wasn't that what he was for?


	5. Mar 8th

Mar 8th, 1997

  
  


Having healed Potter's head injury, Poppy turned her attention instead to cleaning the boy up. Lounging about in blood-soaked Quidditch robes wasn't healthy. 

A carefully performed severing charm made it easier to peel the boy out of his clothes. Poppy hadn't removed more than Potter's Quidditch robes and shirt before she froze, shocked.

_ It couldn't be… _

Her eyes traced over the spider-webbing of scar tissue over the boy's abdomen, her fingers soon reaching out to confirm that she wasn't seeing things. The pale ridges and grooves sprawling out from navel and outward in all directions were quite real, even as she fought to believe it.

Stretch marks.

The boy had been  _ pregnant _ . 

A few swishes of her wand confirmed her suppositions. Less than a year ago, if she had to guess, though the boy certainly hadn't shown while she was at school, this year or last. Unless he'd hid it and gave birth during the summer—

Madam Pomfrey sat heavily into a chair next to the bed, her mind buzzing with worry. 

That made  _ three _ Gryffindors this year alone.

Though she couldn't see him through the privacy curtain, Poppy glanced towards the next bed over housing the Weasley boy, who had been pregnant too, though much more recently. He was friends with Potter, wasn't he? And then there was Miss Granger…

This was a problem.

Smoothing her skirts, she rose and finished her task of cleaning and dressing her charge. Once she'd seen to her other patients, Poppy set an assistant to watch the ward. 

Something had to be done about all this teen pregnancy business.

.

.

.

.

.

Poppy knocked on the ornate door to the Headmaster's office and waited.

"Come in," Albus called.

Poppy took a steadying breath, feeling out of sorts.  _ This is necessary _ , she told herself. She was uncomfortable with breaking student privacy even in extreme cases like this one. 

Head held high, Poppy strode into the office, where Albus sat behind his desk, which was half-buried under a mountain of scrolls, a rather thick one in his hands "Headmaster," she said, nodding respectfully to him.

"Good afternoon, Poppy. What brings you to my humble office?" He waved her to take a seat in a chair opposite him, which she accepted.

"I believe we have a situation, Albus. I just finished healing Mr Potter's Quidditch injury — dreadful fracture, honestly it's a wonder we even let the students  _ play _ it—"

_ "Poppy," _ Albus calmly interrupted, "You didn't come to see me to advocate against Quidditch again, did you?"

"No! Sorry, no." Poppy took a deep breath, wrestling her thoughts back to the matter at hand. "What I came here for is… well, it's a  _ delicate  _ matter."

"Delicate?"

"Mr Potter shows signs of having been  _ pregnant _ . That he possibly carried a baby to term. I'm concerned because I was not made aware of his condition neither last school year nor during the present one. This is a serious matter on its own, but I fear there is more to it."

Albus sighed, setting aside the scroll he'd been looking at. "I'm well aware of Mr Potter's recent hardships."

"You...you are? But why wasn't I informed?" Poppy was stunned. Not keeping the school mediwitch unappraised of a student's health was highly irregular. Mr Potter's situation must have been serious, indeed, to warrant such discretion.

"I'm afraid the matter was a complicated one. You see…" Albus hesitated a moment. "Mr Potter was attacked last year during the Christmas break. He refused to tell anyone about the incident. By the time I became aware of Mr Potter's situation, he was quite far along in his pregnancy and had grown attached to the baby inside him. He gave birth shortly before term began, but there were...complications. The child was, unfortunately, stillborn."

Dismayed, Poppy wrung her hands in her lap. "The poor dear! But I don't understand! What of his attacker? Why wouldn't the boy say anything,  _ demand _ they be brought to justice?"

The headmaster shook his head, looking his many years. " _ Love _ . Harry loved his abuser. He was convinced that there was nothing wrong with having a relationship with an older man, a man in a position of trust and power over him. He was quite willing to keep it a secret, but the pregnancy prevented that. And in a way, justice was dealt, though indirectly. He was killed last year in a Death Eater attack."

"Who…?"

Albus hesitated before whispering brokenly — "His godfather, Sirius Black."

Gasping, Poppy's hands flew up to cover her mouth, shocked at the disservice done to the boy, how badly he'd been failed. "Oh dear…. oh I  _ knew _ something was wrong with that man! I remember when Potter was brought to my wing that night of the third task. Black laid right down beside him on the bed. Of course I hadn't _ known _ right then it was a wizard, how could I? He looked like a loyal dog at the time. But looking back...it just wasn't  _ natural _ . Oh if I'd only _ said _ something!"

"Now Poppy," Albus soothed, "if anyone is to blame, it's  _ me _ . I encouraged Sirius to become closer to the boy, to be a supportive ear, a role model even. I failed to realize how starved for attention Harry was, how full of trust despite everything he’s been through. Youth is such a delicate time. I ought to have remembered that, especially as I am no stranger to misplaced love myself. There was a time when I put my trust in the wrong person — and paid dearly for it. Love is blind and is blinding, and there are always those who take advantage of such a vulnerable state."

Poppy reached out to clasp his hand, tears in her eyes. "Then you cannot blame yourself. Wanting to see the best in people is not a flaw nor a crime." She gave him a wavering smile then withdrew.

"You are too kind. I wish I had been able to extend such wisdom to Mr Potter. Unfortunately, given the complexity of his situation — in denial of his abuse and suffering from his miscarriage — it was thought best to modify his memory, make him forget the attacks and the pregnancy altogether. A fresh start to allow Harry to be a carefree young man again...as much as he can be, at least."

A sinking feeling settled in Poppy's stomach. "So he...doesn't remember? But what of the stretch marks?" 

"They were explained as the result of a dark curse from a Death Eater attack. "

"The poor dear…"

Albus surveyed her intently over his half-moon glasses. "Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?"

Poppy started to shake her head then jolted in her seat. She'd nearly forgotten, caught up in her empathy for the Potter boy. "Well...actually, yes. It concerns two of Mr Potter's friends, Mr Weasley and Miss Granger. You see, both recently became pregnant, though Mr Weasley's child did not survive the poison he accidentally ingested. Both cases were brought to my attention a week ago."

"That is… quite troubling," Albus frowned.

"Oh my... _oh!"_ Her hands flew up to her mouth. "I just realized— Before coming here, I went to speak to Minerva about the behavior of her charges, only she wasn't in her office. So I... I left a note…for her to speak with Weasley, Granger...and _Potter_." 

Albus held up his hand (the healthy one, thankfully, his cursed one made her want to cry every time she saw it). “Don’t worry, Poppy. I shall speak to Minerva about the situation — and recommend counselling the rest of her older students. You need not trouble yourself any further. Now, I’m afraid that I must send you back to your charges. My correspondence—” he waved at the utter mess of his desk “—is beyond ignoring, though I’m quite tempted to burn the lot and claim I never received them.” He chuckled, smiling warmly as Madam Pomfrey swept from the room, her curiosity satisfied and conscience clear…

And then Dumbledore's expression hardened.

Grimly, Albus turned to address Fawkes, perched in the corner of the room. “In Professor McGonagal’s office, there should be a note on the desk from dear Madam Pomfrey. If you would be so kind as to retrieve it?”

The phoenix gave a brief trill and disappeared in a burst of flames, reappearing a moment later in the air above Albus’s desk, releasing a sheet of parchment from its claws. Faukes alighted the perch, its task fulfilled. 

Albus caught the note. He scanned it briefly to ensure it was, indeed, from Madam Pomfrey. 

A flick of his wand and the parchment turned to ash. 

.

.

.

.

.

Hermione’s knuckles had barely touched the heavy door before Professor Dumbledore was bidding her to enter his office. 

“Good evening, Headmaster.” 

“Good evening, Miss Granger." Dumbledore inclined his head, looking somber. "Thank you for taking the time to see me. I know today has been a stressful one, what with Harry’s unfortunate accident. How is he?”

“Physically, he’s doing alright, Madam Pomfrey fixed his skull fracture right away, though he has to stay in the Hospital Wing a couple days for observation.” Hemione sighed. “Mentally, he’s been beating himself up about the match. Honestly, I never thought McLaggen could be  _ worse _ for the team than Ron.” Hermione blushed, embarrassed for being so rude. She might not have the enthusiasm for the sport that most students did, but after watching McLaggen single-handed ruin the match, Hermione was sorely tempted to test her mettle as a beater using McLaggen's stupid head as a bludger.

“Ah...yes, that was rather unfortunate. Insult to injury, if I may say.” Dumbledore chuckled, smiling ruefully. “I’m sure Professor McGonagal is quite beside herself.”

“She wasn’t too pleased with McLaggen, no.” None of the Gryffindors were. The Slytherins, however, were literally singing his praises. It almost made Hermione miss “Weasley is Our King”.

“Indeed. I take it you were visiting Harry before you received my summons?”

“Why yes, I was.” 

“I apologize then for stealing you away at such an inconvenient time. With Harry in near constant danger, it eases my mind when he is surrounded by people who can protect him. But if I may be so bold… I find myself curious. It seems as though a change has taken place in Harry’s circle of confidantes. To my eyes, he and Mr Weasley have drifted apart.”

“Um, yes. That’s...that's accurate,” Hermione nodded, grimacing. “Right now, Ron’s world consists of Quidditch and his girlfriend. There’s...not much room for anyone else.” Ron didn’t seem to have a problem hanging out with the rest of the boys in their year, but Hermione wasn’t about to say as much to the Headmaster. 

Chances were he already knew that, too.

“But Harry still has  _ you _ to count on, I trust?”

“Of course he does! I would  _ never _ abandon Harry like Ron has!” Hermione cried, slightly hurt and offended that her loyalty to Harry was being brought into question.

Dumbledore raised his hands, placating. Hermione cringed a little at the sight of his injured hand. “I don’t mean any offense," he soothed, "I’m simply concerned about Harry’s support system. After losing Sirius last year, I worry about him. He needs good people to rely on in times of need. I had high hopes for Ron Weasley, but the attractions of youth can be fickle.” he sighed, looking disappointed. “But I’m glad to hear that Harry has a friend in someone with a level head on her shoulders.” He smiled. “How are you faring this year?”

“It’s— It’s been challenging…” Hermione offered hesitantly, sensing a shift in their conversation.

“The sixth year can be hard, sometimes more so than the seventh. All of the planning and fretting before the actual doing. It can be even more difficult—” he paused, looking at her over his half-moon glasses, “—when one is dealing with the stresses of motherhood.”

Hermione went pale. “How—?”

“I am informed when underage students find themselves in difficult situations,” he said neutrally. “Normally, these matters are left to the parents of the involved parties to decide on a course of action. However..” He paused, sighing to himself, closing his eyes for a brief moment before he fixed Hermione with a frighteningly hard stare. “I  _ cannot  _ permit this to continue. You are too important to Harry, and his attention needs to be on the task at hand, not looking ahead to family matters that are of no use to him.” 

He stood.

Shocked and confused, Hermione could only gape as the Headmaster leveled his wand at her, realizing far too late that she was in danger. 

Dumbledore’s spell hit her square on. 

Slumping in her chair, Hermione tumbled headfirst into unconsciousness before she could even reach for her wand.

.

.

.

.

.

“Hermione?” Luna’s airy voice called from behind her down the hall. “Is everything alright?”

“Hmm? I’m fine,” Hermione said, the words coming to her automatically, but they felt true enough. "I’ve just been to the Headmaster’s office." She kept walking down the corridor, needing to return to Gryffindor Tower to—

Well, Hermione wasn't sure why, really. She just knew she needed to.

Luna edged around to stand in front of Hermione, blocking her way down the hall. "Yes, I know. You just got back." She pointed down the hall to where the gargoyle statue stood. "I told you I'd wait for you, remember?"

"Er…" Hermione's thoughts felt slow, disconnected. It was as though she were waking from a deep sleep, unable to clearly process her surroundings. She was having difficulty piecing her thoughts together. 

"Are you feeling okay?"

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” Hermione protested. She was, wasn't she?

“It's just that you walked right past me like I wasn't there. And you're rubbing your belly like it hurts." Luna, pointed to where Hermione was indeed massaging her belly in little circles.

Hermione looked down. Now that she could see herself doing it, she realized that her belly  _ did  _ ache. It was cramping badly and she felt nauseous. How she hadn’t noticed it before was beyond her. Hermione frowned down at herself. That wasn't very good, was it?

"Let's go see Madam Pomfrey.” Luna took her by the arm and gently tugged her to follow, Hermione meekly obeying. 

The journey to the fourth floor was uneventful and quick to Hermione. She was starting to think a bit clearer by the time she and Luna reached the Hospital Wing, and by then, worry had begun to set in. 

What if something was wrong with the baby?

She clutched at her belly, praying to anyone who was listening for everything to be alright.

Madam Pomfrey took one look at Hermione and ushered the girls to a free bed, drawing the privacy curtain around the three of them. “What’s happened?”

“I don’t know.” Hermione wailed, her panic growing by the second. “My belly feels strange— I’m cramping and  _ aching—  _ Oh  _ please _ tell me what’s wrong!” She clutched at Luna, who tried to calm her down with soft shushing noises.

“Let me take a look, dear.” Madam Pomfrey drew her wand and pointed at Hermione’s midriff. 

Nothing happened.

The nurse paled. “No, that can’t—” She waved it again and again, each time nothing seemed to happen. Finally, Madam Pomfrey simply placed her hand on Hermione’s belly, closing her eyes as if concentrating. 

Hermione held her breath, her throat tight as she waited, praying, praying…

Madam Pomfrey looked up into her eyes — and Hermione knew.

Shaking her head, Hermione sat heavily on the bed behind her, hugging her middle. “No.”

“I’m so sor—”

_ “No!” _ Hermione shouted at her, making the poor matron jump. “No, you’re  _ wrong! _ You checked just this morning and everything was  _ fine _ , it  _ can’t _ have—” Hermione sobbed brokenly, rocking herself back and forth, still shaking her head in disbelief. 

“I’m sorry, my dear.” Madam Pomfrey looked close to tears herself. “These things can happen for any number of reasons. Health issues, stress—”

_ “I _ did this?” Hermione gasped, hugging herself tighter, looking devastated.

“No! Of course not!” Madam Pomfrey sat beside her, rubbing her back in soothing circles. “Sadly, not all pregnancies make it to full term. Complications arise. It’s no one’s fault, dear. You did everything right. But fate is fickle...and has a way of letting us down.” Madam Pomfrey conjured her a handkerchief, her eyes shining with unshed tears for her poor charge. “You'll stay here tonight. I’m going to get you a few potions to help you with the nausea and residual pain. If you like, I can give you a Calming Draught as well.” 

Hermione nodded frantically. Anything —  _ anything _ — was better than this feeling, like a black hole had opened up inside her soul and had sucked everything out.

The matron slipped out of the privacy curtain, leaving the girls alone in deafening silence, broken only by Hermione's cries, muffled as they were by her hand.

Hermione was dimly aware of Luna sitting down beside her and drawing her into a big hug, holding Hermione so tightly it became hard to breathe. What did breathing matter? Nothing did. Her baby was gone.  _ Their _ baby. “Our baby… our  _ baby _ …” Hermione choked out, trying somehow to relay to Luna that she was falling apart.

But Luna already knew.

“I know, love. I’m so sorry. So sorry…” Luna whispered, rocking them, reaching for any means of comforting her lover, knowing that nothing short of a miracle could do that. 

It was all gone. 

In less than a day, the wondrous future that Hermione had dared to embrace was torn from her hands, leaving nothing but cold emptiness where love and warmth and hope had been. She felt sick and angry and wanted to rage at the world to ease the pain inside her heart. 

Instead she howled into Luna’s shoulder, great shudders racking her body as she clung to her girlfriend. Luna held her, stroking her back, trembling with her own devastation. She didn't tell Hermione it was going to be okay. 

Hermione was too fragile to hear such lies. 


	6. Mar 10th

Mar. 10th, 1997

Monday morning, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were released from Madam Pomfrey’s care. Ron was dragged off by his girlfriend Lavender, who wasted no time in simpering over him, cooing nonsense as they walked off together, Ron bearing her attentions in stoic silence. 

During his stay, Harry had noticed a marked somberness in Ron. Normally, he would have chalked it up to Gryffindor's brutal loss on Saturday, but in his visits the week before, Ron had looked the same — vaguely haunted, his smile forced.

Perhaps the poisoned mead had really hammered in the fact that death was  _ real. _

Harry sighed and continued walking with Hermione and Luna, who had turned up as well.

Glancing next to him, he smiled lopsidedly at the sight of his two friends in a half-embrace. Luna had an arm about Hermione’s shoulders, while Hermione had done the same at Luna’s middle, leaving hardly any space between the two. Hermione ducked her head to press a chaste kiss to Luna’s hand and Luna smiled at her, giving a soft, tinkling laugh.

This was the most affectionate Harry had yet seen them be in public, where any nosy student could see. A warm, lazy feeling filled him. He liked seeing them so happy. 

Only Hermione’s happiness seemed strained and mildly affected, kind of like Ron’s.

“Are you sure you’re okay, ‘Mione?” 

Hermione looked at him like he was mad. “You had your bleeding  _ skull  _ cracked open, Harry. I pretty sure that’s more serious than a touch of the flu,” she admonished with a laugh, though her eyes looked suspiciously red, as though she’d been crying. 

Harry would have pressed further only a small Hufflepuff girl walked up to Harry and handed him a scroll, muttering “I was asked to give you this” before scampering away, blushing furiously. 

Unrolling it, his suspicions were confirmed: he had another appointment tonight with the Headmaster.

“Everything alright, Harry?” Luna leaned around Hermione to look over at him.

“I’ve a meeting with Dumbledore tonight.” Perhaps Dumbledore had more memories to show Harry. Absently, he wondered if Dumbledore was showing them to Harry as he found them or if he was slowly filtering Harry the memories, spacing them out for some unknown reason. 

“Harry?”

“Hmm?” He looked up from the loopy handwriting on the parchment. Hermoine was biting her lip, looking rather pensive. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you want me to go with you? Maybe I can, er, help?”

“Oh.” Harry blinked at her in quiet surprise. It had never occurred to him to ask Dumbledore about including his friends in this. The memories Dumbledore showed him were important, Harry knew, as was the detailed information the man had on Voldemort. Harry hadn't kept any of it a secret from Ron or Hermione, but  _ he  _ was always the one being asked to the Headmaster’s office, not them.

As though this was just for Harry.

And maybe it was a bit selfish, but Harry didn’t really  _ want  _ to share Tom Riddle with anyone, not like this, not the sight of him at least. Letting them  _ see  _ Tom Riddle was very different from simply talking about him. There were things that Harry could omit. Riddle’s tall lean stature...the gentle wave in his hair...his dark assessing eyes and how his lips could curl into a smirk as easily as a smile. No, this was...too intimate, too personal, to be shared with his friends.

Harry ducked his head, rubbing at his neck nervously. “I—I think I’m supposed to go alone for this. But I’ll ask him about it.” 

He wouldn’t. 

“Just...Just be careful. Okay?” Hermione looked crestfallen and worried. For a moment, it seemed like she wanted to say something else, but she just shook her head and hugged Luna tight to her side, as if seeking comfort. 

They turned the corner and then they were at the stairs, where students were coming down on their way to breakfast. 

If Harry thought Hermione’s behavior strange, he soon forgot it as his stomach told him in no uncertain terms that he needed to eat something more filling than the soup Madam Pomfrey had allowed. 

.

.

.

.

.

Harry’s guilt over neglecting to get Slughorn’s memory all but vanished under the anticipation bubbling inside him. 

Eagerly, he tipped his face down to the pensieve and rematerialized inside a memory. 

He stood in Hepzibah Smith’s sitting room, which was highly cluttered with books and trinkets and potted plants. There were tables and cabinets and shelves scattered about, simply  _ bursting  _ with interesting things. It was a room his Aunt Petunia would have  _ hated.  _ Looking around, Harry could understand why Borgin and Burke would send Tom Riddle here. 

When Tom Riddle himself stepped into the room, everything else seemed far less interesting than moments before and even old Hepzibah’s large form draped in gaudy pink robes managed to fade into the background as Harry  _ stared _ .

Tom couldn’t have been more than a year or two out of Hogwarts, his hair a little longer, his cheekbones sharper in a way that accentuated his lovely brown eyes. He was tall and graceful and cut a very nice figure in the plain black suit he was wearing. 

Harry barely restrained himself from walking up for a closer look (which wouldn’t do at all, not with Dumbledore right beside him).

It was strange to see Voldemort so polite and demure, though it was clearly artifice intended to bend Hepzibah to his will. Harry wondered if he liked using such deceptions to get what he wanted. Wouldn’t it have been easier to just use the Imperius Curse? Either way, Hepzibah was easily beguiled by him; if her covetous looks were anything to go by, getting her to part with a magical doodad or two wouldn’t be difficult. 

Harry grit his teeth at her simpering and fawning. It was as though she thought Tom actually  _ wanted  _ to be there. His stomach rolled.

When Hufflepuff’s Cup was brought out, Tom’s eyes lit up in actual interest for the first time since entering the room, a red glint in his dark eyes, there and gone again in a blink. Harry was staring, waiting for that red glint to return, when the old witch reached out to pinch Tom Riddle’s cheek. 

Harry’s jaw dropped. It was just the sort of carelessly aggressive affection that Aunt Marge showed Dudley when she came round, and to see someone use it on  _ Voldemort _ was more than just shocking, it was  _ unthinkable _ . The sheer presumption it took to lay hands on Tom Riddle boggled Harry’s mind. A strange possessive rage swept through him. He balled his hands into fists until his nails bit into the sensitive skin of his palms. 

How  _ dare _ she touch him? That privilege wasn’t  _ hers _ , it was— 

Harry shook himself, forcing away that thought. His dreams were  _ clearly _ getting out of hand. Voldemort would never allow Harry anywhere near his person. 

Not that Harry  _ wanted  _ to touch him.

He watched Hokey bring out the Locket, the same trinket Merope Gaunt had pawned off for ten Galleons.  _ This _ held Tom’s interest right from the start. Not only did he know what it was, he seemed to know precisely how it came into Borgin and Burke’s possession (Harry doubted very much that Voldemort would be struggling to restrain himself had Hepzibah carelessly insulted just  _ any _ raggedy witch). Harry felt a swell of indignation for poor Merope, who had been swindled, forced to deliver her child in a muggle orphanage of all places when her money and options ran out. And this entitled, bloated old witch, surrounded by her riches and luxuries, had no business making fun of such a sorry situation —  _ especially _ not in front of the poor witch’s son. 

Harry eyed her with extreme dislike. It was bad enough she kept making eyes at a boy  _ decades _ her junior, but to tease Tom Riddle with her possessions — one that was priceless to Tom — was just asking for something awful to happen. When Hepzibah whisked the Locket away, sending Hokey off to lock up her treasures, Harry was a little disappointed that Voldemort did nothing at all, half-wanting to see the witch on the receiving end of a few clever curses. 

That Hepzibah was found dead just days later made Harry feel a little better. Voldemort had gotten his own and was reunited with his mother’s lost Locket.

But guilt churned within him. 

Voldemort  _ killed  _ a woman for a few  _ trinkets _ . Shouldn’t Harry feel bad about that? How awful a person  _ was  _ he?

Thankfully, Harry wasn’t given much time to dwell on his own traitorous thoughts for Dumbledore swept him into the next memory, this time taking place in the very office they stood in. 

Voldemort entered and once again Harry found himself staring, but not in the same greedy way as he had in Hepzibah’s sitting room. No, Harry was staring in unabashed horrified fascination. In ten years, Tom Riddle had gone from an attractive young man to being much closer in likeness with the thing that had climbed out of that cauldron two years ago, skeletal and snakelike. 

What on earth had Voldemort done? What dark magic had the man used on himself? — and Merlin only knew with what intent…

Harry watched the strangest job interview in the world play out to its inevitable conclusion, though he briefly entertained the notion of Voldemort as a Professor at Hogwarts. Would the man cringe at the hearing students call him ‘Professor Riddle’? Maybe Dumbledore would cave and let him use his chosen moniker — Professor Voldemort, resident DADA instructor, shaping young minds and instilling nightmares. 

Harry couldn’t really imagine it, being taught by something that looked like a melting human waxwork.

Apparently Dumbledore couldn’t either, turning Voldemort down with swift decisiveness that bordered on cruelty. And here they were, stuck year after year with a new DADA instructor because Voldemort hadn’t got his way and had a meltdown about it. 

Yet another thing to blame Voldemort for. Yay.

It was getting late and, though Harry’s mind was buzzing from the new information, the day was catching up with him. Tired, he fought back a yawn and stood, preparing to head back to the Tower.

“Harry? If I could take a moment more of your time?”

Harry turned back, his guilt returning as he once more remembered the disappointment the Headmaster had leveled at him at the start of the lesson, his failure to take his task seriously and get the memory from Slughorn. 

He cringed, waiting for another round of barbed remarks.

Instead, Dumbledore drew his wand.

Instantly, Harry was curious and, oddly, apprehensive. What was wrong with him? Dumbledore wouldn’t hurt him. 

Rigid, Harry watched the Headmaster wave his wand, pointing it at Harry, who grew more and more tense when nothing appeared to happen. “Sir…?”

Dumbledore smiled. He looked relieved. “Forgive me, dear boy. I wanted to make sure you were suffering no ill effects from your incident this summer. Crippling injuries like you suffered on Saturday can, rarely, allow the resurgence of dark curses when a person is vulnerable.”

“But— I thought the curse had been countered?” Feeling sick, Harry pressed his hands to his belly, self-conscious of the weird scars he’d been left with. It was bad enough he couldn’t remember the attack at all, but not knowing the curse could still hurt him was stomach-turning. Why did these things always happen to him? He already had  _ one _ curse scar that acted up from time to time, he really didn’t need another to worry about.

Dumbledore looked weary. “Unfortunately, what you were afflicted with can only too easily have a recurrence, under the right circumstances. I have been vigilant, making sure that you don’t suffer again. Thankfully, you are perfectly fine, though perhaps you could do with a decent night’s sleep. I daresay the beds in the Hospital Wing leave much to be desired — but don’t tell Madam Pomfrey I said as much!” He smiled, eyes twinkling with mirth behind his half-moon glasses.

Harry grinned, relieved. “Never, sir. Was there anything else?”

“No, Harry. You are dismissed.” The Headmaster made a gentle shooing motion, bidding Harry to go on his way, which Harry hastily obeyed, slipping out the door and dashing down the stairs. 

He didn’t realize it until he was halfway down the hall from the gargoyle — his heart was pounding, like he’d just run flat out from something. He frowned. Maybe he was still off from his Quidditch accident. He shook himself and returned to Gryffindor Tower, slipping past the portrait of the Fat Lady. He ignored her gripes about how close to curfew it was, his thoughts on the memories Dumbledore had shown him.

In only ten years, Tom Riddle had made very large steps in erasing his past, down to the very face he wore. For a man with such a high level of self-importance and vanity, Voldemort certainly seemed to hate himself.

“Harry!”

Harry jumped, drawing his wand, only to lower it a moment later when he saw Hermione on a couch near the fireplace, surrounded by books and parchment. “Sorry. Got lost in my thoughts.” He chuckled nervously, trying to play off just how close he came to hexing his friend.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be? Are you? You look a bit peaky.” Maybe it was the fire playing tricks, but Hermione’s eyes looked red, like she’d been crying recently. “Maybe we should go see Madam Pomfrey, make sure your flu is cleared up.” 

Hermione laughed, rubbing her face. “No, she made quite sure everything was cleared up.” She smiled, but there was a rueful lilt in her words. 

“Is everything alright with you and Luna?” He didn’t want to pry, only Hermione looked just this side of miserable, similar to how she’d been all last week — and Harry didn’t think for a minute it was because of the ‘flu’. If she needed an ear, he’d gladly lend it. 

This time, Hermione hesitated, which told Harry that whatever was going on with her very much had to do with Luna.

“Yes. Everything’s fine.” She gave another mask-like smile, but didn’t explain any further.

“Okay,” Harry hedged. If she didn’t want to talk about it, he wouldn’t make her. She had a right to her secrets. “I’m going to turn in for the night. See you in the morning, yes?”

“Yes. Goodnight Harry.”

“Night.” 

Still feeling uneasy, Harry made his way to his dorm. Maybe it was just weird girl things upsetting Hermione. Sometimes she was just moody and needed a few days to sort it out. 

Putting Hermione out of his mind, Harry slipped into his blessedly empty dorm. For once, he was thankful that Ginny had stolen the attention of the other boys, leaving Harry free to indulge in a little self-play _without_ any lingering eyes who didn’t deserve to watch (Harry was still rather upset with his yearmates). 

A few spells and the door was locked, the room warded against eavesdroppers. 

Harry eagerly stripped out of his clothes, anticipation driving off his exhaustion. It had been too long since his last play session. That stupid bludger Cormac hit him with had derailed his entire weekend. While he  _ had _ spent it in bed, Harry would rather have been in Hogsmeade, not the Hospital Wing. Thank goodness for Luna — when Hermione went to see Professor Dumbledore, Harry gave Luna a note to owl to the barkeep, letting him know there was a good reason why Harry wasn't on his back with his legs spread at the Inn. 

The note Hedwig came back with was a little ominous, though. 

Harry was expected to make it up to Aberforth. 

He shuddered to think what the dirty old man had in mind.

So the past weekend had crawled by with Harry's libido very much untended. And he had yet  _ another  _ week of celibacy to look forward to.

Growling under his breath, Harry dug about in his trunk, looking for—  _ there _ it was. 

In his hand was a deceptively small plug with a loop on one end and knobby ridges that tapered down at the other. It was a lurid shade of hot pink that made Harry think of Umbridge every time he saw it. It had been a gift from the twins and it was a delight.

Awful color or no, it was what he needed right now.

After pausing to spell his hole clean and thoroughly slick, Harry dropped his wand onto the nightstand and rolled into bed. He  _ stretched _ , toes reaching towards the end of the bed, fingers curling against the headboard as he luxuriated in his private moment, enjoying the first licks of arousal. 

Usually, he masturbated quickly, desperate to get off, half pressed for time to avoid being late for class or to avoid his mates. It was nearly curfew and, though his year mates could be back any moment, Harry could give a damn if the other boys saw him like this. He was done waiting for them to remember he existed. 

_ Fuck 'em _ , Harry thought as he closed his eyes and relaxed, tracing his scarred belly in nonsensical swirls, just enjoying the sensation of touch….

And imagining being touched…

It was too easy, picturing a different set of hands, one with long graceful fingers—

“Argh!” Harry growled at himself, yanking at his unruly locks.

Tonight's lesson with Dumbledore had been amazing, but it hadn't come at a worse time. Harry had been _ itching _ for some stress relief and now that he could get it, all he could think about was handsome Tom Riddle, tall and graceful, with long fingers that, if put to good use, could be  _ devastating _ —

He bit his lip, staring up into the burgundy canopy of his fourposter bed. 

Was he really going to do this?

No one would know…

His body hot with guilt, uncomfortable with his own depravity, Harry closed his eyes, once again tracing his belly, letting his filthy mind stroll where it wanted…

_Harry was walking through the dismally lit front room of Borgin and Burke, passing display cases of old and disgusting things_ — none of which he could see clearly, this being just a fantasy, but he imagined being put off all the same — _getting closer and closer to the back._

_ “Is there something I can help you find?”  _

_ Harry turned, startled (though not really) to find Tom Riddle standing a few paces away, hands clasped behind his back. He looked pleasantly interested the way all shopkeeps were, with that same vaguely put upon smile. A curl of his wavy dark hair fell nearly to his eyes. It was coquettish, disarming in a way that his intense, appraising stare wasn’t. _

_ Ton arched a curious eyebrow, his lips curling into a more natural smile, though it was closer to a knowing smirk. _

_ Harry realised he’d been staring. _

Ugh, he was so lame even in his fantasies... 

_ Blushing, Harry shook his head. “I...don’t really know what I’m looking for.” _

_ “Curious how you ended up here then.” Tom cocked his head, his dark eyes narrowed, raking over Harry. “If you don’t mind me saying...you don’t look the type to wander into a shop like this.” He stepped closer, some unknown emotion crossed his face, there and gone in the blink of an eye.  _

_ The older boy  _ — well, young man _ ,  _ really — _ was taller than Harry by more than a head. Harry was forced to crane his head back a little to look at Tom properly. He had a feeling this was intentional, to make him feel vulnerable.  _

_ “I might have said the same about you,” Harry said before he could stop himself. Flushed with embarrassment, Harry cleared his throat and walked over to a nearby display case, more to collect himself than out of interest. “Does anyone really buy any of this stuff?” He stared down into a waist-high glass case filled with undefined objects, highly aware of Tom’s slow, methodical steps towards him, stopping just behind him.  _

_ “Oh, we have a decent clientele.” Tom said softly, so close that Harry could feel the heat from his body. “Are you interested in jewelry?” He reached around Harry to tap lightly on the glass, chuckling low under his breath when Harry startled.  _

_ “Um...maybe _ —  _ maybe a locket?” Slytherin’s locket, gold with a serpentine emerald inlay. It was the first thing to come to his mind.  _

_ For better or worse,Tom seemed more interested in him now. “A locket? Is that what you need? Some trinket to hold a picture of your lover?” He was so close, their clothing brushed.  _

_ Harry swallowed roughly. He felt warm and anxious, but he made no move to get away. He didn’t want to. “I don’t...I don’t have a lover…” It was mostly true. Harry had sexual partners, none of them close enough he could call ‘lover’. _

_ “Really?” Tom whispered in his ear, pressing his hips into the glass case, his hands on it to either side of Harry. He was pinned. “Now I would have thought a pretty thing like you would  _ certainly  _ belong to someone.” _

In his bed, Harry’s fingers began to dance lower...lower...massaging his thighs, tracing over his groin, teasingly close to his straining cock but not touching it. Not yet.

_ Nervous, Harry leaned forward over the case to avoid being too close to the older boy, to put some space between them. _

_ This did not have the intended effect.  _

_ Or perhaps it did. _

_ “You didn’t come here for any old trinket, did you?” Tom pressed fully himself to Harry’s backside, long-fingered hands drawing Harry back by his hips. He laughed at Harry’s shocked inhale. _

_ Unable to speak, Harry shook his head. _

_ “You came here for  _ me _ , didn’t you?” Tom gave a lazy thrust, his burgeoning erection, digging into the cleft of Harry’s ass. “Sweet, pretty thing...did you mean to seduce me?”  _

_ Spidery hands slid up and down his hips, teasing, fraying his control.  _

_ “N-no…” Harry whimpered, though it wasn’t a convincing argument when he was half-draped over the glass case, his back arching into Tom’s slender body. He didn’t mean to be so...so  _ slutty _ , he just couldn’t help it. Once aroused, it was like a switch flipped in his brain, turning off rational thought, becoming a slave to his body’s desires.  _

_ And what he desired was _ —

_ Tom clucked his tongue in mock disapproval. “Now now, don’t lie to me.” A hand slid up Harry’s back only for it to run right back down, fingernails dragging roughly down his spine in a dazzling flash of pain that quickly criss-crossed into pleasure, startling a moan from his lips. “Now, sweet thing, tell me what you want. And don’t you  _ dare _ lie to your master.” _

_ A shiver ran up Harry’s spine.  _

_ “I want you,” he whispered to the case, the glass fogging up under his warm breath.  _

_ Those long fingers slid into his hair, caressing him. Suddenly, Harry found himself arching up off the glass case while his hips were yet pinned to it,Tom’s hand fisted in his hair.  _

_ “Tell me... _ again _. Clearly.” Tom’s nose brushed down Harry’s neck, as though he were tracing Harry’s frantic pulse. His arousal felt like a brand, hot and heavy and seemingly marking Harry as his even without their skin properly touching. Cruelly, Tom twisted Harry’s hair, giving a tiny shake when Harry was silent for too long. “Now. Or I throw you out like a common street whore.” _

_ Harry swallowed hard. “I want you.” This time, his words rang clear in the gloomy shop.  _

_ “To…?” _

_ “I _ —  _ I want you to f-fuck me.” Harry was thankful the young man couldn’t see his face. I must red as a cherry by now.  _

_ He had just asked the budding Dark Lord to fuck him. What a base creature was he... _

_ “You ask so nicely...perhaps I should have mercy on you. Hmm?”  _

_ Without waiting for a reply, Tom savagely forced him down against the glass, knocking most of the wind from his lungs. Harry’s mind was trying to catch up and didn’t realize for several moments that his clothes were suddenly gone.  _

_ He was bent over, completely nude, in front of Tom Riddle.  _

_ To his shame, Harry slowly edged his feet wider apart, baring the most vulnerable part of him to the dark wizard. Arousal had seized hold of his reason. He waited anxiously for Tom to do something, anything  _ —  _ curse him, hit him,  _ fuck  _ him — and for a while nothing came, only silence that wracked Harry’s nerves, though his cock was still hard and leaking against the glass. Then fingers caressed Harry’s pert ass, parting the globes to reveal the furl of his hole. Hot breath puffed against it. Harry clenched on nothing, keenly aware of how close Tom’s face was to his hole, unable to really process it.  _

_ A soft touch to his sensitive anus, the gentle press of a finger tip, in _ —

In his bed, Harry drew his knees up, spreading them so he could pet his hole, the slick practically oozing out of him from his earlier spell. He dipped a finger in, humming low. 

_ In a heartbeat, Tom had two pressed deep inside, stretching Harry impossibly fast, uncaring of the burn they caused, lighting up Harry’s spine with pleasure-pain when they easily found that  _ spot _. Those long, clever fingers _ ...  _ Harry had thought about them so much, but not like this, never imagined how  _ deep  _ they would go, how  _ full  _ he would feel. _

Harry slid two fingers in, hissing softly at the stretch. Nearly three days without being plugged and he was back to square one, wincing like a nervous virgin on his lover’s fingers. He vowed to never let himself go so unprepared again. On his own, prep like this was  _ work _ , not fun. 

Desperately, Harry fought to resubmerge himself into his little fantasy, needing the distraction.

_ Harry rocked back on those long fingers, uncaring that he was being a naughty slut in front of Tom. The fingers twisted, rubbing  _ hard _ at that pleasure spot inside Harry and he saw stars, a ragged moan tearing from his throat.  _

_ “I rather like you like this.” Tom chuckled. “So open and needy. I could do anything to you and you’d take it, wouldn’t you?”  _

_ Something hard and wet brushed against the swell of Harry’s ass  _ — _ Tom’s cock. Harry didn’t know whether the older boy was nude or had simply released himself, but either way, Harry was very into the idea of Tom trailing his cock over Harry’s body, smearing precum into every bit of flesh. _

_ Of course, Tom didn’t do this. Instead, he replaced his fingers with the tip of his cock, holding still for far too long. Harry had to actually wiggle his hips to get Tom to move.  _

_Perhaps taunting him wasn't the best idea for, a moment later, Tom was thrusting in, too fast for comfort, not stopping_ — Harry brought the bright pink plug to his entrance, took a deep breathe and, on an exhale, pressed the toy in, a light sweat breaking out over his skin as the bulky knobs spread him apart, deeper and deeper, just this side of painful as it grew, quickly filling out into the shape of a large (if lumpy) cock — _Harry shook like a leaf by the time he was fully sheathed._

_ "There." Tom breathed in his ear, flexing his hips to get as deep as possible, making Harry gasp (he felt so _ full) _. "You feel lovely, darling. Better than a glove. Like you were  _ made _ for me…" He nipped at Harry's ear, Harry clenched involuntarily at the sharp pain, and they both groaned  _ — _ Tom at the tighter squeeze of Harry's ass and Harry at the too-tight wrap of his skin around Tom's cock. _

The toy was still growing, lengthening, becoming a shade wider as it inexplicably responded to Harry's desires, now a hefty-sized dildo. 

But something still wasn't quite right. 

Harry lay on his back, frowning up at the canopy until it hit him.

Carefully rolling over, Harry slid off the bed until just his torso remained on the bed, bent over it at the waist, spreading his legs just like in his fantasy. 

There. Perfect.

_ For all that he'd pushed Harry's limits on his first thrust, Tom was very still now, as though he were waiting for Harry to get used to his sizable girth. Tom didn't talk, just nipped at his neck, leaving a slew of love on both sides while Harry struggled for control. _

_ Eventually, Tom decided he was done waiting.  _

_ Withdrawing a little, he snapped his hips forwards, jolting a shocked grunt from Harry, whose eyes flared wide at the sudden movement. _

"Start." Harry whispered. The toy responded, pulling out halfway, then surging in until the faux balls it had grown  _ slapped _ Harry's skin. It was nearly  _ too _ hard. 

It was just what Harry needed.

_ Tom thrust again...and again...withdrawing a little more each time, thrusting back in hard, apparently unconcerned about the trembling boy beneath him. In fact, he seemed to relish it, running a hand over Harry's sweat-covered back.  _

The toy started a matching rhythm, getting faster the more it pulled out, always driving in punishingly hard, fucking Harry roughly over the side of the bed. 

_ The hand caressing his back reached up to curl around Harry's shoulder, gripping it firmly, forcing Harry back onto Tom's increasingly violent thrusts. Whimpers were torn from Harry's lips as Tom pulled out almost entirely, snapping his hips to resheath himself, fucking Harry rough and hard. The glass case rocked precariously on its spindly legs, the trinkets inside battered about by the force of Harry's body driving against the case. _

_ "You take it so well, darling. Are you a whore after all?" _

_ "Y...yes…" Harry whispers into the glass. Of course he was. He'd practically begged for this, caressing the young man with his eyes, not fighting Tom’s advances. He'd _ wanted _ to be used by Tom, wanted whatever Tom would give him.  _

_ Tom's cock was splitting him open, demanding Harry's submission.  _

_ Harry gave it. _

_ Teeth bit into his shoulder, dug in  _ hard _. Harry cried out, feeling his skin tear. Agony shot through him. His cock leaked against the glass, not flagging in the slightest. _

Harry's toes curled against the stone floor. The toy was growing again, thickening, filling Harry's hole full to bursting. It felt so _ good _ ...Harry spread his legs wider, bracing himself for the quicker speed the toy sensed he wanted — and gave, pounding Harry, the faux balls slapping at Harry's ass in a passable mockery of a flesh and blood partner. Harry would have much preferred a  _ real cock _ to this crude facsimile, but the spells the twins had imbued it with made it hard to tell the difference sometimes.

_ "Oh, aren't you a treasure." Tom chuckled darkly, lapping at Harry's bleeding shoulder.  _

_ Harry moaned, the flash of pain twisting into pleasure, edging him closer— _

_ "You respond so beautifully to pain," Tom panted, pounding his cock into Harry, taking his own pleasure, "I think I might keep you...Lock you in a room where no one will find you…keep you safe and chained to my bed...your tight hole mine for the taking…" _

_ "Please!" Harry begged. He was half out of his mind with twisted pleasure, most of his attention on the cock driving in  _ impossibly _ deep, but Tom's words still reached him, enticingly awful, Harry's ardor spiking at the thought of being a plaything for the Dark Lord. "Anything!" he panted, pushing back onto Tom's cock. "Please, please fuck me!" _

_ "You would be mine?" Tom grasped him by the hair again, dragging Harry's upper body up until his spine bowed deeply, Tom's pace never faltering. "You would let me keep you,  _ abuse _ you, treat you like the lowest whore all for my pleasure?" Tom sucked a livid bruise into Harry's neck.  _

_ "Y-yes!" Harry whined at the pain of teeth and lips on his tender flesh, clawing uselessly at the glass case. He turned his head to the side, giving Tom full access to turn his whole neck black and blue. He writhed on Tom's cock, loving the intensity of the Dark Lord's possessiveness, marking what was _ his _. Tom fucked him harder and Harry sobbed, tears running down his face as he rocked on the edge. _

_ "Who do you belong to?" _

_ "You...you…" _

_ Tom wrenched Harry's head to look at him, a red gleam shining in his dark eyes. "And what am I?" he growled, watching Harry hungrily, unfettered desire in his face. He was almost as undone as Harry. "What. Am I?" _

_ "Master!" Harry wailed, coming untouched as Tom fucked him over the edge, clenching fiercely around that beautifully massive cock, his eyes rolling back _ —

The toy pounded against his prostate in rapid thrusts, the knobs forcing his flesh to give, stroking his channel as Harry finally fell apart. Sobbing, Harry spurted his release all over the bed, shaking under the toy's abuse, his mind utterly blank. 

Unable to speak, Harry lay limp over the bed as the toy continued to move, growing  _ thicker _ ,  _ longer _ , filling Harry up as his dirty whore brain begged for  _ more _ , though his hole _ ached. _

_ "More", _ a voice said, cruel and high. " _ More _ ."

Nothing mattered but toy fucking him, sending heat and sparks up his spine as it wrung another orgasm from his body. Harry twitched feebly against the bed, crying brokenly.

_ "Again. Another for your master." _

It wasn't until Harry was pulsing his cum into the bedspread a third time, drooling, out of his mind with pleasure, that the toy just stopped. 

Withdrawing roughly, it floated around until it was positioned at Harry's lips, pushing in, thrusting deep into Harry's throat. 

_ "Suck it." _

Harry obeyed, his tongue caressing the odd ridges, suckling eagerly even though the toy was fucking his mouth too fast for it to matter.

_ "Such a good slut for your master. How much can you take?" _

The toy sped up, balls slapping Harry's chin as it skullfucked Harry. Harry groaned. He felt so empty…His hips rocked mindlessly against the mattress in time with the brutal toy, his cock thickening…

The toy pulled out entirely, soaring back around to Harry's leaking hole where it thrust back in, pounding at a frantic pace that drove the air from Harry's lungs.

He couldn't take much more of this.

But  _ more,  _ still he wanted  _ more. _

As did the cruel voice in his head.

_ "Harry… you're mine… I'm going to fuck you until all you know, all you want...is  _ me _...take my seed, boy...show your master how much you want it…" _

Panting, Harry slid his arms back to grasp his ass, holding it open for the toy, back arching invitingly, moaning brokenly into the covers.

_ "That's it, boy...take your master's cock...let me breed you… You want that, don't you? You want to be ever full of me, round and bursting, showing the world who you belong to…" _

"Yes...yes  _ please! _ " Harry begged, rocking back against the dildo battering into him, feeling his orgasm crest for a fourth time.

_ "Who do you belong to?" _

"You...only you…" Harry cried. He was so close...so close…

_ "What's my name?" _

"Voldemort!" Harry sobbed, convulsing against the bed as he came, nails digging into the flesh of his ass, clamping down on the toy fucking him,  _ claiming _ him…

Eventually, Harry came down from his high, trembling badly. The toy had finally stopped, but it was still huge inside him, plugging him up.

Carefully, Harry pulled out it, letting it fall to the floor and roll away somewhere. 

He'd find it later.

Breathing shakily, Harry crawled into bed, collapsing, exhausted and confused. He'd never lost control of the toy like that. Not that he was complaining about the results. His body felt like jelly, utterly boneless and used.

He'd needed that so much…

It was a struggle to work the covers out from under him, but he managed. Harry nestled down, nuzzling at his pillow as he sank into blessed unconsciousness, wondering if he could get the toy to do a repeat performance.

On Harry's neck, black and blue bruises shown vividly on his pale skin, fading...fading…And on his shoulder were smears of drying blood and a new pink scar curiously shaped like teeth marks.

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Seamus, Dean and Neville crept back into the common room. Ginny was still fucking McLaggen and Ron. Tired as they were, they had decided to head back. It was well after curfew and no one was in the common room. 

Or so they first thought.

"Look at that…" Seamus whispered.

Hermione lay asleep on the couch. Her robes had ridden up, revealing a short skirt.

Smirking, Seamus crept closer, the boys following him. Carefully, he eased up the meager fabric, revealing a scantily clad pussy. 

"Dormio." A light blue spell enveloped Hermione, ensuring that she wouldn't wake without the counter charm.

"Good thinking Neville," Dean chuckled, shucking off his robes, working his pants open. 

"I figured if I'd caught my second wind..." Neville shrugged, grinning at the other boys. He began to remove his own clothes, his arousal returning at the thought of fucking a tight pussy. He'd wanted a shot at Hermione for a while. 

Dean picked up the books and parchment scattered around Hermione, laying them on a nearby armchair. He had a feeling they would need the space. 

"Oh yeah, I  _ definitely  _ want to spend some time with this." Seamus rubbed at Hermione's crotch, working at her clit until a damp spot grew bigger and bigger on her panties. "Fuck yeah. You should smell this, guys." He leaned in, nose to that damp spot as he inhaled deeply, rubbing at his trapped erection. " _ Merlin _ I want to plow her cunt."

"You think she’s ever had a cock before?" Dean stroked his massive black cock, precum welling at the tip. "She seems pretty chummy with Luna, if you get me."

"That just means she likes a good licking." Neville chuckled, kneeling on the couch by her head. "Think she likes to lick back then?" He pressed the tip of his cock to her lips, forcing it deep until her throat in one smooth thrust that made everyone groan to watch.

"Wow…." Dean helped hold her head still. "Have at Nev."

"Thanks mate!" Brutally, Neville fucked Hermione's throat, loving how it hugged him, wet and warm like a pussy but weirdly not. He loved throat fucking Ginny, using her face as his own cum dump. He wildly lost himself to humping Hermione's face, eyes closing in ecstasy.

Between Hermione's legs, Seamus was lapping madly at her crotch, soaking her mound in spit, sucking at her clit to make her slit wet against the sloppy fabric. "Fuck she tastes good…." He pulled the fabric aside to swipe his tongue up her slit, collecting her arousal, moaning like he'd found nirvana. His tongue dipped inside, tasting her, wiggling against the spot that always drove Ginny mad. 

Hermione's hips bucked against his face.

Dean laughed, stroking himself as he watched his friends abuse the witch. "Damn, Seamus. It looks like she could use more than a tongue in there." 

Hermione was humping his face, Seamus was happy to let her, adding a couple fingers to his tongue to stretch her wet cunt. He soon had four crammed inside her, pounding in frantic pulses, feeling her loosen around him more and more, his fingers drenched in her arousal. 

"Oh fuck," Neville groaned. He pulled out of Hermione's mouth to come on her face, hastily pulling at the neck of her shirt to get a few shots of cum on her tits, groaning at the sight of his seed splattered on her bra. He kept stroking his cock, eager to fuck her mouth again.

"Beautiful Nev. Here." Dean transfigured the couch into a bed so that he could get around Hermione from the back. Between him and Seamus, Hermione was moved onto her side, a leg thrown over Dean, who lay down behind her.

"You gonna work her open?" Seamus asked, struggling out of his robes and finally freeing his hard cock. It dribbled precum to the floor he was so worked up.

"Nah, I'm just gonna spell her open. Does the same." 

Seamus shrugged. He preferred manual, but with as big a cock as Dean had, it would take ages to get Hermione's ass loose and ready for a fucking.

A few spells and Hermione's ass was clean, lubed, and loose. 

She was ready for Dean.

Scooting in close, Dean lined up and steadily thrust until every inch was buried in that tight ass. "Fuck, it’s even better than Ginny's," he groaned. "Don't tell her I said that." He flexed his hips, thrusting just a  _ fraction _ deeper. 

"Okay, we  _ have  _ got to see these." Neville made quick work of Hermione's robes and shirt, popping it open in one strong jerk, buttons flying, her lacy pink bra exposed to the room. A tug and her big tits fell out, her nipples hard and peaked.

With a shuddery moan, Neville fell forwards, sucking at a breast like a mad thing, soaking her areola. Saliva rolled down the swell of her tit.

Sliding into the bed in front of Hermione, mirroring Neville, Seamus mouthed at her free tit enthusiastically as he too lined up his cock and pushed into her wet slit, whimpering around his mouthful as her pussy clutched at him. She was tight, unbelievably so, but then she also had Dean's horse cock in her ass taking up space. 

The dual drag of a cock against his with a bare layer of skin between them made both boys groan. It felt  _ amazing  _ using her like this and they had yet to really fuck her.

"Oh wow...that looks so…" Neville stuttered, fumbling to get his hard cock back in Hermione's mouth.

As one they started to fuck her, each pounding into one of her holes, using her unconscious body as a living sex toy, working her holes hard and rough. Dean was especially brutal. He had a lot of dick to work with and a tiny hole to use. It squeezed him tight, trying to milk the cum from his balls. Desperately, Dean pounded her ass in long thrusts, pulling out as much as he could in the awkward sideways position before snapping his hips forwards to bury himself balls deep again. 

Seamus had the better leverage though. Still suckling at her bruising nipple, Seamus plowed deep, easing Hermione's body further and further over until he was fully atop her between her spread legs with Dean under her. His balls slapped against Dean's. "Oh fuck," Seamus groaned, kneeling up for a better position to fuck her sodden cunt _ hard _ .

Dean held her legs up and apart. He no longer had the room to thrust, so Hermione lay impaled on his cock, Seamus dragging against him. Dean just lay there and let the eager Irishman have his way with the stuck up bitch.

She and Harry had been giving the boys judgy eyes for weeks. Well, now who was so high and mighty? "Hey..." Dean panted. "Let's wake her up. Let her  _ really _ feel this."

Seamus scrambled for his wand, but Neville got there first. "Finite Incantatem!"

Hermione's eyes batted open, not realizing what was going on for a few seconds, then her eyes bulged in shock at the testicles bashing into her face, Neville fucking her throat in deep thrusts. 

She choked and tried to push at them, her legs kicking. 

Easily, they pinned her down. Dean held her thighs spread wide, Seamus held her wrists to the bed on either side of her head, and Neville kept her face right where he wanted it. "Take my cock, you stuck up bitch," he panted, groaning at the feel of her throat rippling around him, trying to force him out, her tongue working him instead of pushing him away. "Yeah, suck it. You love cock, don't you?"

Dean bucked under her, emphasizing just how much dick was in her ass. They all laughed at her pathetic whine, but it choked off as Seamus rubbed at her clit, Neville snatching her free arm when she made to strike out.

"Now, now. Be nice. He's trying to get you off. Unless you  _ want _ it to hurt?" Neville crooned, slowing his thrusts to more sedate pace, going shallow so she could breathe. "That's it, keep sucking. That's a good girl." 

Because she _ was _ sucking, actively so. Almost  _ eagerly.  _

Hermione whined, arching her back to get more of Dean inside her, her legs spreading, inviting Seamus's abuse. 

They all gaped down at her.

"She wants it." Seamus flicked her clit, gasping when she tightened around him rhythmically,  _ working _ him. "Fuck…. _ fuck! _ " He couldn't hold back anymore. Leaning forward, Seamus pounded her wet cunt, rolling his hips at the end of every thrust to make her legs shake. "Fucking _ love _ your tight pussy, babe. I'm gonna fill it up with my cum."

Hermione bucked up, toes curling. 

"You like that?" Dean whispered in her ear, "All of us filling your useless holes with seed? I hope you have a contraception charm in place. We're gonna breed you for  _ hours _ ." Dean spread his legs for leverage then pistoned up into her ass, making her take every inch as he fucked her best he could with her on top of him.

Neville was back to all out fucking her throat, his hands gripping at her hair, forcing her face to his groin. "I'm gonna come. Swallow it… swallow—" he broke off with a cry, shooting his load down her throat, holding her face still as he shook apart. Cum welled at her lips, spilling over, dribbling down her cheeks.

Neville eventually withdrew. 

Hermione coughed and hacked, her throat sore from the rough treatment. Her eyes goggled at the sight of her rapists. "No! Please!" She cried, fighting again. "Please stop!"

"You're cunt disagrees." Nodding for Neville to hold her arms down, Seamus went back to rubbing and pinching her clit, grinning when the witch groaned and clenched in his cock. "Looks to me like you're _ enjoying _ this…."

"No...no I don't...I don't…." Hermione threw her head back against Dean's shoulder, rolling her hips down into the black boy's cock, unable to stop her hips from working it. It was as though a demon was possessing her. A filthy surge of _ want _ stole through her. 

She _ shouldn't _ want it, she _ shouldn't _ .

Her legs kicked at a well-placed thrust from Seamus, her cunt getting wetter as he pet her most sensitive areas with the tip of his cock. "Oh  _ fuck _ …." She moaned, arching her tits high for Neville to suck when he bent over her again. His cock prodded the side of her face. Without thought, she turned and mouthed at it, lapping at the foreskin. He was hard for _ her _ . She took him into her mouth, sucking hard when she sank to the base, whimpering around him.

She  _ shouldn't  _ want this…

"Fuck, Nev, how many loads you have in you?" Dean asked behind grit teeth. 

"Took an enhancement potion." Neville releasing her nipple to pant out, encouraging Hermione to take as much cock as she wanted. "Guess it hasn't worn off yet. Good thing, too. Would never have thought she'd be such a slut for it."

"Yeah, knew you liked it." Seamus pinched her clit, laughing as she helplessly snapped her hips, as though unsure which dick she wanted deeper. "All lesbians are secretly cock hungry whores. They act all shy, but get them on a few fingers and they just _ beg _ for more."

"You think so?" Neville asked, guiding Hermione to bob up and down, faster. 

"Yeah. I saw Colin force this little Hufflepuff slut to suck him down on the fifth floor, that one with the Slytherin girlfriend? She practically _ begged _ him to split her ass open. Filthy thing let her have him right there in the corridor. Colin had me work the camera for him. We should watch it sometime. She was  _ sobbing _ by the time he was done with her ass."

They all groaned. They loved it when a bitch cried on their cocks.

Hermione was crying now, but silently, her body too worked up and aroused to really hate what was being done to her. Every time Dean thrust up, her breath caught, which was awkward because the cock in her throat made breathing difficult anyway. The stretch of her around his immense base had brought tears to her eyes, tears that ran down her face, but the _ way _ Dean worked himself inside her made her want to  _ come _ . 

But they weren't fucking her  _ hard _ enough. 

She arched, bucked, _ writhed _ between them _ , _ anything to get _ more _ .

Neville pulled out to slap her wet face with his cock. "Like that, bitch? You want more cock?"

"Please!"

"Please, what?"

Dean held her legs wider, making the stretch of her around him nearly unbearable. "Ohhhh! Oh _ fuck! More! _ Please, more!"

"Ask and you shall receive," Seamus snickered as Neville slipped back between her lips and began to skullfuck her, using her mouth fast and rough. Seamus pinned her wrists down harder to do the same, pounding her cunt, battering at her  _ cervix _ he was so deep. 

Beneath her, Dean held her legs out impossibly wide, moaning at the tight clamp of her ass. He bucked up with abandon, feeling his balls start to draw up, full to the bursting with cum. Oh how he wished he was fucking her cunt. He loved seeing his cream froth in a whore's used pussy as he thrust in and out, forcing it deep and close to her womb. Desperately, he hoped she wasn't on any contraceptive. He very much wanted to see Seamus to breed the whore.

Hermione was rocked this way and that between the boys, her body used like a toy. The abuse felt never-ending. 

But eventually, the simulation was too much, too pent up despite their earlier rounds with Ginny. Dean was the first to go, coming with a grunt as he filled her ass with spurts of creamy cum.

Seamus teasing Hermione's clit. He was holding off his own pleasure to see her come on his cock. "Come on, whore. Come for me. Come!"

Unable to stop it, Hermione felt her orgasm wash over her. She choked on Neville as her body convulsed, pleasure wracking her, driving her mad. Her eyes rolled back in her head. 

That was the last straw for Seamus. Grinding deep, he groaned loudly as he emptied his balls into her wet cunt, her fluttering walls dragging his seed deeper and deeper to her womb. He flexed his hips, instinctively working his cum in further,  _ breeding _ her. 

Neville was tempted to come in her mouth again, but decided he'd had enough of her mouth. "I want to come in her ass."

Groaning, the boys reluctantly moved away, slipping free of Hermione's holes to let Neville crawl between her knees. He forced her knees up to her chest. "Hold yourself open." Dazed, Hermione obeyed, gasping as Neville tilted her hips up and thrust into her puffy red hole. He slid easily through Dean's load. "Fuck you're wet… did you like it when Dean fucked this hole?"

"...yes…" she whispered, screwing her eyes shut against the truth of her traitorous body.

"Did you like it? Being used like the toy you are — a cum hole for cock?"

Hermione flushed in shame. "Yes...I- I love it…"

Neville stopped moving. "What do you want?" He fondled her breasts, pinching her nipples, twisting them, loving how she bucked and squirmed under him. "Tell me!"

"Fuck my ass!" Hermione wailed, tears flowing again. "Please use me, come inside me…..need your cum!" She had no idea where any of this was coming from. Her and Luna fucked a lot, sure, sometimes several times a day, but nothing like this awful need to be used for another's pleasure had ever come over her. 

She ached to be filled and defiled and it scared her as much as it thrilled her.

"Such a well-mannered slut." Neville bent over her, curving her in half as he pounded her ass, not bothering to be gentle. She was just a convenient hole for him to use. A tight, slick hole that squeezed him, teased him, begging him to fill it with seed. "Oh... _ oh! _ Fuck—  _ Merlin! _ Take my cum!" He roared, balls deep, coming hard. "Oh fuck, you filthy slag!"

Hermione's eyes rolled back in her head as another orgasm hit out of nowhere. Seamus worked his hand between her and Neville so he could rub her clit, prolonging her orgasm. Her head and legs thrashed, overwhelmed by sensation. She floated high, her body tingling all over, forgetting her lingering discomfort from her miscarriage. It was so _ wrong _ enjoying her own rape, but she felt loose and free. Nothing mattered. She was a hole for these boys to use, and that's all she wanted to be right now.

Lost in her illicit pleasure, she distantly heard Dean say, "Hey Neville, you got any more of that potion?"

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Ron, Ginny, and Cormac returned to the common room, Ginny having had her fun. 

They slipped through the portrait and froze at the sight before them. 

Hermione was naked on a mattress straddling Dean, riding him, her breasts bouncing as she took his big black cock, moaning wantonly. Seamus had his fingers in her ass and soon knelt up behind her to thrust in as well, splitting her ass open on his cock. The boys forced Hermione to stillness as they clearly struggled for control. 

"Fuck the whore already," said Neville from a chair opposite them. It looked like he was touching himself.

The newcomers watched in shock as Hermione was roughly double penetrated, her body shaking from the force of their thrusts.

Dazed, Ron walked over to them and pet Hermione's face. He pulled his hardening cock from his trousers, grinning when she eagerly opened her mouth to suck him, moaning eagerly. " _ Fuck _ , 'Mione… " Fisting her bushy hair, he fucked her face with abandon, all thoughts of being gentle with his friend vanishing as her tongue lapped at the underside of his cock. "You little slut. I should have choked you on my cock years ago." He'd wanted Hermione since second year when he'd seen that tail poking out of her panties, wondering if her pussy was hairy too.

"Looks like you have competition," Cormac chuckled, stripping out of his clothes to go join them. 

Ginny curled her fists at her sides. 

An empire shouldn't fall this easily.

She watched a little longer as Cormac urged Seamus to move so he could have a crack at her ass, using her hard enough to make her scream around Ron's cock (whether in pain or pleasure no one seemed to care). 

Seething Ginny, stomped across the room, forcing everyone away from Hermione with a Look. Grasping a hunk of Hermione's hair, she gave the slut a shake. "You think you're whore enough for them?"

"Aww come on, Gin."

"It's just a bit of fun."

She ignored all of them, staring Hermione down. "Boys are easy. Get their dicks wet and they're happy. But girls?" Ginny laughed, pulling Hermione's face to her crotch. "Girls are demanding, complicated. Think you can handle a pussy? Or is lying there like a limp noodle your only trick?"

Inhaling deeply, Hermione nuzzled at Ginny's cunt, moaning softly at the smell of arousal coming from it. Hermione had never played with a pussy not her own, what with Luna having a cock instead. The draw to accept Ginny's challenge was heady and thrilling. Eagerly, Hermione lapped at Ginny through her clothes, looking up at her with hooded eyes. 

The boys watched hungrily, but didn't move to resume their use of the toy. They had never seen two girls together before.

Ginny grinned. She had taken hold of the room. 

She tossed Hermione away from her so she could undress, her eyes glued to Hermione the entire time. The older girl was bigger than Ginny, fuller, softer than Ginny's athletic body, but it all suited Hermione. As did the thatch of curly dark hair between her legs. Ginny licked her lips. She'd like a taste of that sometime when it was clean and only smelled of Hermione, not dirtied by countless loads of spunk. 

Naked, Ginny crawled onto the couch-turned-bed, urging Hermione to lay back so she could crawl atop her, crouching on all fours. "What do you think? Care to give the boys a show?" 

Hermione's breath hitched. Blushing bright red, she nodded. 

How sweet. You'd think she'd never done this before, Ginny thought as she crawled further up, sitting over Hermione's face. 

"A throne fit for a queen," Seamus guffawed. 

"Shut it!" Dean whispered before Ginny could do it. 

The boys settled down to watch. 

Rubbing her pussy against Hermione's lips, Ginny hummed, feeling herself beginning to get wet again. She loved oral sex, even if it often left her wanting more. 

Hesitantly, Hermione flicked her tongue out to caress Ginny's clit, doing it again when Ginny inhaled sharply, working the engorging nub in steady, firm licks. 

Christ, the _ smell _ of her, earthy and almost sweet, though there was an underlying scent that reminded Hermione of semen, having become intimately acquainted with the bitter stuff. It was all heady and intoxicating. 

Hermione wanted more.

Grasping Ginny's hips, Hermione urged the girl to rock, to gently fuck her face, taking some of the pressure off Hermione's neck in trying to reach.

The wet folds called to Hermione, who couldn't help slipping her tongue in briefly, tasting Ginny fully.

"Oh God's…" Hermione whispered, tongue-fucking Ginny in earnest, egged on by the redhead's soft moans. 

"That's it…just like that-  _ oh! _ Oh you _ would _ be a quick study," Ginny groaned, wanting to be mad at the sudden addition of two fingers in her pussy, curling _ just _ so, but it was hard to be upset when you could feel pleasure licking up your spine, coinciding with Hermione's eager lapping at her clit. 

"Oh I bet Luna _ loves _ this clever little tongue," Ginny chucked, enjoying the flash of guilt in Hermione's eyes, callously reminding the brunette of her infidelity. "Your _ girlfriend _ must bore you something fierce if you need not one cock but—" Ginny glanced around the room at the boys masturbating around them "— _ five _ to please you. Perhaps I'll ask the twins to send her a nice strapon for you to play with. I hear their sex toy side-business is doing better than their joke shop." 

Much to their mother's embarrassment, of course. 

On a lark, Ginny's Christmas gift to her mother had been a dragon dildo from the twins collection. She _ swore _ she saw her mother secret the toy to her room rather than throw it out.

For the first time in what must have been hours, Hermione thought of Luna, the woman she loved and whose child she had been ready to bear, if only fate hadn't been so cruel. At first, she had been an unwilling participant in the boys' games, a body they'd raped God knew how many times before releasing the sleeping charm they'd kept her under. But as her body grew to crave their disgusting words and harsh touch, Hermione had done all manner of despicable things, chasing her pleasure as she submitted her body to theirs. And now here she was, submitting to Ginny, pleasuring her, and forgetting all about the woman loved.

But Hermione couldn't do  _ this _ to Luna. Luna had been born in a male body, most of her changed by her mother's daring experiments to right nature's wrongs to her daughter, the work ultimately unfinished as Luna's mother died in a failed experiment to complete the change for Luna's reproductive system.

Luna had a _ cock _ . 

Hermione had been fine with that, but she had wondered…  _ yearned… _

Despite Ginny's sharp criticism, Hermione was incredibly turned on. More than ever, she wanted Ginny to come on her face, to paint her tongue with more of that heady slick. 

Twisting her fingers, she sucked on Ginny's engorged clit. Hermione smirked as Ginny's haughty expression faltered, broken by the thready whine the redhead was unable to choke back, rocking her hips with increased fervor. 

Ginny was losing control.

Hermione felt her focus lock on Ginny, determined to bring the bratty bitch down a peg or two. She added a third finger, stretching Ginny further, while her free hand wandered up Ginny's lithe body to cup a breast, kneading at it, pulling at its peaked nipple, teasing her with little bursts of pain. Hermione sucked Ginny between gentle twists to the sensitive bud. 

The dual sensations were rocking Ginny to her core. She'd quite lost her train of thought, unable to give Hermione the verbal tongue lashing the usurping whore deserved for playing with Ginny's toys, falling victim to the mounting pleasure of  _ Hermione's _ tongue lashing.

_ Well played _ , Ginny thought, trying to remember why it was important for her to keep the upper hand and failing entirely. Tension coiled in her belly. Her toes were curling, her hips rocking faster, forcing Hermione's face to the mattress with increasing violence, eager to reach bliss.

Hands slid up Hermione's thighs, spreading them. A moment later, a clever tongue was lapping at her own swollen clit and Hermione moaned helplessly, wanting to come.

Hermione's cry setoff Ginny's orgasm. Gasping, Ginny pressed hard to Hermione's face, desperate to keep pressure and that brilliant tongue where she wanted as pleasure crashed over Ginny, arching into Hermione's hands. 

Coming down, Ginny realized something was wrong. Hermione was whimpering and moaning, twisting under her. A glance behind her was all our took to solve the mystery.

Cormac was between the slut's legs, eating her out, hungrily dipping his tongue into her wet folds as he thumbed her clit. 

The uppity little—

  
  


Emboldened by Cormac's initiative, the other boys clamored onto the makeshift bed. Ron and Dean both sucked at Ginny's breasts, rubbing their wet cocks against her. Behind her, Neville and Seamus did the same on Hermione, mouthing at her big tits as they fisted themselves. Cormac worked Hermione's cunt, humping the mattress beneath him.

Without realizing it, Ginny reached down to urge Hermione's mouth back to her pussy, wanting to feel Hermione's desperate moans on her still sensitive clit. It was enough to send Ginny into orgasm again, pulling at Ron and Hermione's hair as she fell over the edge into bliss.

With a gentle nip to her clit, Hermione convulsed, pressing Cormac down between her legs as she came on his face. Cormac eagerly lapped at her as he humped the bed, coming with a deep groan. 

None of the other boys lasted too much longer, soon painting Ginny and Hermione's skin with cum. 

Everyone sagged into the mattress, energy finally sapped from all the rigorous activity. 

Except for Cormac, who seemed to catch his second wind and moved to slip his flagging erection into Hermione's cunt, becoming rock hard in seconds as he fucked her with a violence that was alarming. 

"Always knew you were a whore, Granger," he panted raggedly, pistoning in and out with single-minded intentness, a wild look in his eye. "Walking around with the Ravenclaw lesbian, everyone  _ knew _ you needed a good fucking, needed to be filled with cum like a good bitch. You want me to breed you?" He laughed at the fear in her eyes, fucking her harder, holding her legs up to her chest to tighten her used cunt around him. "Oh yeah, you want it, Granger. You're practically _ gagging _ to get knocked up, you useless cumdump! I'll give it to you….I'll give it... _ fuck _ —oh _ fuck! _ " 

Cormac roared out his completion, his hips twitching forward uselessly as he was already buried balls-deep, his cum flowing into her womb as Hermione came on his cock, turned on by his dirty threats and rough abuse of her cunt. 

In that moment, after hours of sex, after taking load after load of cum, Madam Pomfrey's contraceptive charm — newly placed just the day before — failed.

As her orgasm swept through her, a tendril of magic, invisible, unnoticed, settled low in her belly, creating a spark...

Cormac moved away to collapse on the other side of Hermione. "Heh, that should have done the trick." He slapped at her tit, laughing as she jerked and moaned, still coming down from her high.

"Yeah, well just in case…" Ron took a swig of the potion vial Neville handed him and settled between Hermione's legs, easing the tip of his rapidly hardening cock into her pussy, sliding through Cormac's release with sickening ease. "Let's put that contraceptive charm to the test," he whispered in her ear as he thrust deep and shallow, punching out grunts of protest from Hermione.

"No...no, don't…" she pushed weakly at his shoulders, soreness drowning out what little pleasure Ron's cock gave her. "Ron _ stop!" _

"Nev? Little help?" 

The potion vial was pressed to Hermione's lips. She was too slow to move away. The potion coated her tongue, sweet like candy. A warm, dizzying feeling surrounded her, pushing away thoughts of anything other than  _ need _ . Arousal thundered through her veins. Suddenly, nothing was enough, not enough air, not enough hands on her body, not enough cock inside of her

Fuck, she  _ needed _ ...she needed...

Her hands curled around Ron's shoulders, dragging him against her, urging her to fuck her  _ harder _ . A cock pressed to her lips. Hermione groaned, desperate to  _ taste. _

Her body was shifted, manipulated. Someone was underneath her again. A cock, hard and dripping precum, thrust slowly into her ass. Too slowly. Hermione rolled her hips down, forcing it in all the way, relishing the heated groan in her ear. Her hands were soon made busy, stroking, fisting the cocks they were wrapped around.

All Hermione knew was the scent of cum, sweat and musk on her skin and the unrelenting heat between her legs, her seemingly unquenchable thirst to be  _ fucked _ ...

Nearby, Ginny smiled, camera in hand.

  
She'd make sure _ no one _ forgot this.


	7. Mar 22nd

Mar. 22, 1997

  
  


Cum dripped steadily from Harry's hole. 

He panted for breath, coming down from his own orgasmic high as his three clients left the room, uncaring that their fuck toy was still strapped to the sex horse. Harry was draped over what looked like a padded sawhorse, designed to keep Harry locked in a kneeling position, allowing everyone easy access to his mouth and ass, both of which had just been well used.

Minutes went by.

Harry shifted, starting to get uncomfortable. Normally the barkeep was in by now to tend to him, get him a little more presentable for the next client.

Eventually, the door opened and shut, but the footsteps approaching Harry from behind were far heavier than the old barkeep's.

Massive hands gripped his hips, so big that they wrapped around Harry entirely, front to back.

"Dir’y little whore," the man growled and Harry froze because he knew that voice, had known it well ever since the man had knocked down a door on his eleventh birthday and changed Harry's life.

Hagrid.

The hands on Harry's hips squeezed none too gently and Harry wheezed, wondering if Hagrid was trying to crush him. The pressure built and built and just when Harry didn't think he could stand the pain, Hagrid released him entirely.

"There now, nice 'n marked up." Hagrid chuckled.

Harry, head covered by the hood, around to see fresh bruises rising from his sides down to his thighs, but that wasn't what made him freeze, what made the breath catch in his throat.

Standing close behind Harry, Hagrid had unfastened his trousers, the tent-like material pooling on the ground at his feet. In one shovel-sized hand was an enormous, fully engorged cock, as long as Harry's forearm and about as thick to boot. Precum covered the back of Hagrid's hairy knuckles, falling to the floor in thick splatters as he stroked that massive cock, his hand quickening.

"Like m' big cock, do ya?" He reached out, prodding at Harry's used hole with a sausage-sized finger, shoving it knuckle deep as Harry choked on his own spit, shocked at the sudden penetration.

It was then that it occurred to Harry that Hagrid meant to fuck him.

A thrill of terror shot up his spine.

He'd never taken anything that large before — and Harry had been double penetrated on more than one occasion. 

There was no way that would fit—

A second sausage-sized finger worked its way into Harry, the squeeze tight but bearable.

The clients before Hagrid had used Harry well.

Panting, Harry rested his head down on the padding of the sex horse, trying to even out his breathing enough to clear his mind, decide what to do.

He couldn't let Hagrid fuck him. Hagrid was Harry's oldest friend, almost a parent even (if one squinted). It would be as weird as fucking Hermione.

But the only way to get Hagrid to stop would be to reveal his identity. Then Hagrid would _ know  _ and then  _ everyone  _ would know because Hagrid couldn't keep a secret for shit.

What should he do?

The two fingers left him with an ugly wet sound, only for three to push steadily into Harry, the digits even wetter now, sliding into Harry with ease despite the desperate tightness of Harry's hole wrapped around them.

"Guh!" Harry grunted as the fingers worked him open, fucking him in harder and harder jabs that knocked the air from him, not letting Harry voice the pleas that wanted to fall from his lips.

Eventually, the fingers slipped free.

Harry swallowed hard. He couldn't take much more of this. Even if it meant losing Hagrid's friendship, Harry couldn't let this go any further.

But Harry had waited too long to build up his nerve.

"Ha- _ aaahhhh!" _

Right as he started to say Hagrid's name, the half-giant pressed close, his hairy body nearly covering Harry completely as the tip of Hagrid's cock — bigger than a fist — nudged at his loose hole, pressing in in one long inexorable thrust that made Harry struggle uselessly in his bonds, trying to get away from it.

He couldn't think, couldn't speak. He'd have screamed if he could have found the breath for it, but it seemed that as Hagrid pushed in, all of Harry's air was punched out, making room for that arm-sized cock sliding in, deeper, deeper,  _ too  _ deep...

Then Hagrid's heavy sac was pressing against Harry's thighs, the coarse hair tickling the back of Harry's thighs, they drooped so low. Stuffed full to the gills, Harry heaved in shaky lungfuls of air, his panic building the longer Hagrid stayed buried inside him.

He couldn't take this! 

Harry whimpered, struggling weakly, pinned between the unforgiving sex horse and his friend's even more unforgiving cock. The pain of that first thrust had nearly done him in. It felt like he was on the end of a pole that he could swear reached up into his stomach, his guts rearranging themselves to fit it all.

He couldn't take this, he couldn't—

Hagrid was done resting.

The thick cock withdrew a little faster than it had gone in, pulling at Harry's insides, but the next thrust was all business, slamming back in balls deep, pistoning back and forth in languid thrusts.

Harry screamed.

Or tried to at least. What felt like a scream left his lips in a grunt too quick before the pain set into his shocked brain. It was like being reamed by a flagpole, a thick, meaty flagpole with a fist-size mushroom tip that battered Harry's insides wide open to allow the rest of that immense girth to pass through Harry's ass.

" _ Gods _ ...yer so fuckin'  _ tight _ ...." Hagrid groaned, picking up speed, balls slapping bruises into Harry's sensitive inner thighs.

"Been so long since I've fucked summit." Hagrid grasped Harry about the hips again, holding Harry still as he worked that too-big cock in and out of Harry's hole, using him like a cocksleeve. "Didna think you could take it, but Aberforth promised you could. Said you were the best piece of ass he's had in years...  _ Fuck _ , he was righ’...yer takin’ me so good..."

While it was true that Hagrid was terribly large, stretching Harry out in ways he never had been, he was also passing over that _ spot _ within Harry that sent fire running through his veins, slowly arousing Harry to the point that he was once again hard and leaking against the sex horse.

Tears ran down Harry's face. He panted, struggling to breathe when that massive cock kept battering in and out again, all the while Hagrid telling him how  _ good _ he was. It was more intense than any double penetration he'd had, more punishing than any scene he'd been put through. Harry had been turned into a hole for his half-giant friend's pleasure, the only expectation from Harry was that he take every inch of mammoth flesh fed to him like a good little cockslut.

Drool and tears soaked the hood over Harry's head. Long ago his pointless struggles died off, now he sagged lifelessly over the sex horse, held in place by the leather straps on his wrists and ankles and Hagrid's body. He was floating high, senses overwhelmed by the intense fuck he was forced to endure.

Nothing mattered. Harry simply...was.

Harry's eyes rolled back in his head when, out of nowhere, his orgasm crashed into him. He whimpered softly, pleasure surging through his body, sending him even higher into white hot bliss that turned his spine to jelly. And all the while, that cock kept pace, rubbing against Harry's prostate and dragging out his orgasm until Harry thought he'd die...

" _ Merlin's beard!" _ Hagrid barked out as Harry clenched around him. Seized by a sudden urgency, he dragged Harry back and forth along his cock, the sex horse scrapping across the rough stone floor with him as Hagrid used his whore, fucking it, trying to _ break it in _ —

Growling low in his throat, Hagrid slammed balls deep one last time, spurting cum deep inside Harry.

Harry gave a weak sob. It felt like a hose had gone off inside him, shooting hot and thick into his guts. Harry twitched against the sex horse, cum filling him up so much so that it leaked out around Hagrid's cock in sloppy dribbles, streaming down Harry's thighs. His gut ached like mad, his insides battered and flooded with an enormous amount of cum.

And it kept filling him and filling him...

"Not much longer now," Hagrid groaned, rolling his hips, still pressed deep. He stroked Harry's back with a big hand when Harry shook and sobbed beneath him. "Sshhh.... It's ok...jus’ gotta...breed you up is all....jus’ a lil longer...."

Rubbing his face against the padding, Harry quietly cried. Even with his near-constant arousal to distract him, the massive cock splitting him open was painful, but the abnormal stretch edged his pleasure out again, making him rock back against it. He moaned, fucking himself on Hagrid, working his tight hole up and down that length in little wiggles — it was all that Hagrid's punishing grip on his hips would allow.

But it was enough.

"Dirty whore." Hagrid chuckled. "No wonder Aberforth likes you so much. He can't keep yer hole filled enough, can he?" He let out a big laugh at Harry's negative head shake and it jarred his cock enough to make Harry come again, this time with a loud whine as Harry shook around him.

As Harry was coming down, he became aware of a strange surge of magic that settled low in his belly, pulsing in content waves that nearly lulled him to sleep.

"Wow...." Hagrid pet him gently (or what passed for gentle with him), rubbing Harry's sweaty back. "I didn't really think...jus’... _ wow _ ... I'm gon’ be a _ daddy _ ."

Harry didn't know what to make of his friend's out of place statement. His confusion was washed away in a surge of terror when Hagrid fumbled with the hood trying to yank it off.

"C'mon...need to see who the mummy is gon’ be, don't I?" He yanked harder, growling in frustration when the magic keeping the hood in place held fast. Harry could do nothing, his limbs were bound to the sex horse and he was still impaled on Hagrid's cock, all of which prevented him from evading those huge hands that threatened to tear Harry's head from his shoulders.

"Enough!" The barkeep strode from the secret passenger on the other side of the room. "You've had your time. Now bugger off! I have customers waiting!"

"But Mr Dumb—"

"You deaf? I said leave!"

Hagrid pulled away from Harry, his cock slipping free with a stomach-turning squelch that made Harry cringe and shudder at both the sound and the intense  _ empty _ feeling in his ass.

_ I must be gaping right now _ , he thought, toes curling at the feel of cum sliding out of him, thick and warm down his thighs.

Hagrid seemed to be torn between standing his ground and obeying the wiry old man. "But...but I bred him. Jus' now—"

The barkeep let out a mean bark of laughter. "This slut gets bred every other week or so. Ain't nothin' new. If he stayed that way, I'd never keep business coming in." He slapped Harry's ass lightly. "His little problem will go away, I promise. Now beat it!"

It was a long uncomfortable moment of silence as the two men stared mulishly at each other before Hagrid caved and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him harder than necessary.

The barkeep tugged the hood free, his spell allowing him to do so easily without any awful tugging. He untied Harry's straps, spelling away the dried and drying cum before helping Harry dismount from the sex horse, steadying the boy when Harry's legs threatened to give out. "Here—" Aberforth handed him two potion vials. "You'll need them."

He was used to the old man giving him the purple-tinted healing potion, so he swallowed the first vial's contents without fuss. He frowned at the second vial, this one full of a dark blue potion. "What is it?"

"A little something to make that problem growing inside you disappear." At Harry's confused look, he rolled his eyes and huffed. "It's an abortion potion, boy. You don't want to run around with a belly full of some half-breed's seed growing up in ya, now do ya? Not that it would put off most of your  _ attentive _ customers," he leered, misunderstanding Harry's wide-eyed surprised. "Anyhow, that last one was enough for tonight, I think. You best take that potion and be off. I’d say you’ve made up for your slack and then some.” Without waiting to see if Harry took the second potion, he strode from the room, leaving a very shocked Harry behind.

He stared at the potion, his hands shaking.

Breeding was— was  _ real?  _ But that was impossible! He was a _ boy _ . Boys couldn't get pregnant.

Or at least.... _ muggle _ boys couldn't.

Harry's stomach coiled in knots, dread filling him. He'd thought that the whole  _ breeding _ thing was just kink. Something people said to get off faster.

But if it  _ was _ real...

Harry hugged his middle, his thoughts racing.

He remembered the strange feeling swirling through him when he'd come that last time, how his belly had felt all funny and warm. And Hagrid had said..he'd said...

Harry looked down at himself. His belly looked no different to him. It was flat, covered in those weird scars that he'd had since the end of summer.

Something niggled in the back of his mind. It felt like he had forgotten something important, but he couldn't figure out what. He pressed his hands to his belly, the potion vials digging into his skin as he instinctively reached out with senses he could only describe as _ other. _ If he concentrated...he could almost feel something.

Could it be—

A fuzzy feeling filled his head. It was suddenly hard to think.

Harry clutched at the potion in his hand. He didn't know what to think, what to believe. He was tempted to down the potion and be done with it. What could it hurt?

But then...he wouldn't  _ know _ .

A brilliant idea came to him.

Madam Pomfrey.

She was a mediwitch. If anyone could set him straight, tell him what was wrong, it was her. He could always drink the potion later.

In almost no time, Harry was dressed and making his way back from Hogsmeade and into Hogwarts via the secret passage through Honeydukes.The entire journey it was a struggle to remember what he needed to ask Madam Pomfrey, but every time he felt his thoughts slipping away, he would squeeze the vial in his hand, the barkeep’s words ringing in his ears, and his focus would return, running as if the devil were after him. He needed to find Madam Pomfrey. His Invisibility Cloak almost didn't hide him as he jogged through Hogwarts, puffing and skidding around corners, unwilling to slow down until he'd gotten to the heavy doors of the Hospital Wing. 

Panting, Harry tucked his cloak away and pushed through into the dark room, wondering belatedly if Madam Pomfrey would even be here this late at night. 

He didn't wonder for very long. As if knowing a patient had arrived, Madam Pomfrey stepped out of a room halfway down the hall and hurried towards him.

"Mr Potter! It's after curfew, what's bothering you enough to drag you here at this hour?" She ushered him to a nearby bed, looking him over closely. "You’re all flushed and sweaty! What’s—?"

"Can guys get pregnant?" Harry blurted, unable to hold back his question any longer. In his pocket, he clutched the vial of blue potion, willing it all to be a joke. It couldn't be  _ possible _ .

But then—

Madam Pomfrey looked stunned by the question. And strangely hesitant."Well..yes. Pregnancy in males is not exactly common, but not unheard of either. In order for males to bear children, they must have, shall we say, a genetic predisposition for it.” She grew more confident and matter of fact as she rambled on. “It's not unlike female fertility, though male fertility requires much more of a magical component to allow for pregnancy than in the case of females, because the male body must _ transform _ —"

"But it _ is _ real?” Harry interrupted what was sure was the start of a very interesting lecture, only he was too keyed up for such a long-winded explanation. “It's....not a joke?"

"Mr Potter, I would hardly entertain jokes at this hour of the night, not about something so serious as pregnancy," she tutted. Something of Harry's quiet dismay must have shown in his face because her irritation slid into a look of pinched concern. "Did something happen? Are you... are you worried you might be pregnant?"

Harry bit his lip, willing himself not to cry. "I was raised by muggles. I was always told that boys can't...and _ here _ , no one tells me _ anything _ , not until I've done something  _ wrong _ . I didn't.... I  _ can't _ be—"

"Sshhh," Madam Pomfrey hushed him, urging him to sit in the bed. "Now, now. No need to ruffle up feathers without due cause. Let me do an examination and we'll explore your options from there, shall we?"

Harry absently nodded, latching onto the word 'options' like it was a lifeline, only he should have been paying more attention to when she said 'examination'.

Madam Pomfrey drew her wand. Harry did his best not to flinch as she pointed at him, waving it. A soft white glow emanated from his midriff, brilliantly illuminating the hall for a moment before the light faded away.

The silence in the room was  _ deafening _ .

Harry couldn't make himself look at Madam Pomfrey. Her silence was proof enough that something was wrong.

"Mr Potter... it appears you are indeed...pregnant," she said gently, putting away her wand, folding her hands in front of her.

"Oh." He didn't know what else to say. What  _ could _ he say? He was a boy — a  _ pregnant _ boy. That was a thing. Harry hadn't felt so wrong footed since his eleventh birthday, when he discovered magic was real and that people all over the world knew his name. Madam Pomfrey could tell him anything right then and he would have believed it, his mind was so blown.

Mind reeling, Harry sat heavily on the bed.

He was pregnant....with  _ Hagrid's _ baby. Honestly, of all the  _ many _ people Harry had bent over for, why was  _ Hagrid  _ the one to knock him up? Was it because of their friendship? Or was it something to do with magic?

Madam Pomfrey sat beside him on the bed. "I know this is a very personal question, but it's important. Was the sex consensual?"

Harry blinked. He wasn’t sure what to make of that _. _ "Um, I— I dunno? I mean...I liked it well enough in the end...."

"But you didn't... _ really _ ...want it? It doesn't matter how your body was made to feel, you know. Bodies are full of confusing senses and hormones. They can be made to think that something  _ bad _ is good because it  _ feels  _ good. What _ matters _ is what _ you _ want.... Did you want it, Harry?"

Harry chanced a look at her. It was obvious that she was concerned. And her smile was kind. Something in his chest untwisted, wanting to talk about this with _ someone _ , even if it was a virtual stranger. How long had it been since he'd talked about...well,  _ any _ of it? The summer, maybe, with Fred and George and Mr Weasley? Maybe a little with Luna, at the start of term? Though they hadn't exactly discussed their past in detail since the train.

"Um… I- I'm not sure?" Harry was never asked if he wanted sex. Men just...used him. But Harry almost  _ always  _ wanted sex, so constantly being asked seemed like a chore, really. 

"Do you know the person you had sex with? Was it someone you know? Or someone you've perhaps only seen in passing, a stranger?"

Now Harry was starting to feel a touch defensive. He didn’t like all these questions. Wasn't it enough that Harry had gotten knocked up? Why would she need to know all this?

More importantly, what in the seven hells was he going to do now? 

Still thinking himself in circles, Harry drew his legs up, hugging them to his chest, not caring that his dirty trainers were messing up the nurse’s clean sheets. He was feeling far more vulnerable than he'd ever felt before. 

In lieu of an actual answer, he shrugged, picking at his robes.

"Alright then....perhaps that's enough for now.” She patted him on the shoulder. “How about you stay here tonight? We'll discuss your options in the morning?" 

“O-kay…” he hesitantly agreed. He didn’t really want to go back to his dorm right then anyway. His head felt too full, buzzing with questions and worries. 

Harry shucked off his robes and shoes as Madam Pomfrey crossed over to a nearby wardrobe, coming back with a nightshirt she deemed suitable for him to sleep in. As he changed out of his clothes, Madam Pomfrey bustled off to a door on the other end of the hall, disappearing through it.

He crawled into bed. Exhausted though he was, Harry found it impossible to drift off to sleep. All he could do was stare up at the ceiling and think.

He thought about the blue potion in his robes. One drink and his problem was gone. 

But...was it a problem? 

He supposed that being pregnant would probably be inconvenient, especially if that pregnant person happened to be the Chosen One with a veritable death sentence hanging over him. But if he kept it, then Harry would have a family. A small one, for sure, but a bona fide family, closer than his grudging relatives and more permanent than any friendship. He didn't know how Hagrid fit into the picture, but Harry wouldn't feel right in keeping a baby from its father.

It's  _ other _ father? Thinking of himself as 'mommy' seemed weird.

A family...

The nerves knotting his stomach settled a little at the thought. He'd never had a  _ true _ family—

The door at the end of the wing opened again. Madam Pomfrey stepped back out into the room.

She wasn't alone.

Harry sat up in bed, fumbling for the glasses he'd set on the night stand.

Striding towards him, yellow robes bright even in the dim light of the wall sconces, was Professor Dumbledore. Dread clawed at Harry’s insides. This couldn't be a coincidence.

Dumbledore carefully sat on the edge of the bed, half-turned to face Harry. He looked....old. Older than usual. Or maybe it was sadness? Madam Pomfrey hovered just behind the headmaster, looking both furious and on the verge of tears.

The sick dread gnawing at him grew.

Something was  _ wrong _ ...

"I had hoped that this phase would pass. I convinced myself over and over that it was hormones forcing you to act out, to...relieve the increased tension you have come under, of late. But no matter how much I would like for you to see the _ damage _ you are inflicting upon yourself, the fact remains. This _ cannot _ be allowed to continue. This... _ weakness _ you have puts not only your own self at risk, but the wizarding world as well. And this cannot be tolerated."

Harry stared at him, hunching in on himself. He didn't understand. “Sir—”

"Completely nullifying your natural urges would be preferable, but costly." Behind him, Madam Pomfrey nodded firmly, silently agreeing. "Too costly. The mind has a way of being affected by our wants and desires. Instead a strong contraceptive charm will be placed on you to ensure that you avoid further... unfortunate circumstances." Dumbledore paused, his face hardening, his blue eyes cold. "The spark, of course, must be dealt with. I'm sorry, Harry."

Harry was having trouble focusing. Anger coursed through him, his magic thrashing wildly under his skin. He drew a hand to his belly, to the spark of life he had reached out and touched only hours earlier.

Dumbledore wanted to gutter that spark.

Because it was _ inconvenient _ for him.

For the world.

_ Well fuck the world then _ .

Harry threw back the covers, tossing them towards the Headmaster as he dove for his robes, where his wand still was.  _ Stupid, stupid. Left himself defenseless. _

He never reached it.

A stunning spell from Madam Pomfrey caught him in the back and down into blackness Harry tumbled, down down down....

.

.

.

.

.

Harry woke to the familiar sight of gold and burgundy drapes, sunlight filtering in through the tower windows. 

He'd had the  _ weirdest _ dream....

Absently, Harry rubbed at his belly, at the dull ache there. He felt like he was forgetting something, something _ important _ . 

Within moments, he forgot that too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How we doin? Hate me yet?

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who's curious, this entire set of chapters filled 100 solid pages of word document. I'm doing this for *fun*. Clearly I need help.
> 
> Find me at collared-fantasies.tumblr.com


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